


Dream Brother I thru III (6/7)

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:06:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Sent to investigate mysterious hauntings in the painted wilds of Utah, the X-files team stumbles upon more than they bargained for, including the indomitable Alex Krycek.





	Dream Brother I thru III (6/7)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Dream Brother by Tabby

"What are you doing, Alex?"

"Do you like the blue jeans or the black?"

"I prefer you with nothing on at all! Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," said Krycek. "Just wanted to get my cutest outfit together."

"You're in your cutest outfit! Come back to bed!"

"All right," said Krycek, and kissed him.

"What were you doing with Mulder, Alex?"

"Hmm?"

"At the hospital."

"Nothing," lied Krycek. "Just being a friend." 

"Well, then, be a friend to me."

"Do you like me to kiss you here? How about here?" Krycek asked.

"Kiss me everywhere."

Later, he wandered out to the kitchen and cut a slice of quiche.

Bill Runningwater was there loading the dishwasher. "Hey, guy," Krycek said, seating himself on a barstool. 

"Hey yourself," the Navajo said, nodding at him. "How's it going?"

"OK," said Krycek. He didn't look OK, Bill thought. In fact, he was getting that "junkie look" that was so popular these days, thin, pale, dark circles under his eyes.

"I need a shot, Bill," Krycek said. 

Runningwater jerked his head in the direction of the bedroom. 

"No, he's asleep. I hate to wake him."

"I'm not giving you any, Alexei," the Indian said grimly. "In fact, I bitterly regret having given it to you in the beginning. It's a serious drag on my conscience and a blot on my soul."

"Oh," said Krycek. "He'll probably sleep through the night. That means I'll go through withdrawal all night? I have that audition and photo shoot tomorrow!"

"You have a photo shoot too? Wow, ____ _____ must be really serious about signing you!"

"Yes, and so will you get me a shot so I can perform?"

"Go and look for some then."

"I don't know where it's kept, and this is a big house."

"Keep looking, Alexei."

Krycek searched the bathrooms and eventually found a syringe, already loaded. He brought it back to the kitchen. "I need something to tie myself off with," he said.

Runningwater sighed. "Try a rubber band or something. But please, don't shoot up in front of me!"

"All right, I won't." He sat down on the living room sectional, and trembling, injected the drug. Soon he began to feel better. "Going to bed, Bill," he said.

"Throw that in the trash."

"No, I want to keep it."

"You're not keeping it. Throw it away!"

Reluctantly, Krycek threw the syringe away and retired to the bedroom, slipping into bed with his lover, who woke up sufficiently to determine that it was he, and who embraced him. "Alex," he said, drowsily, "I love you."

The Smoking Man woke up at six, and so did Krycek. "I've got an important meeting this morning, Alex," the man said, knotting his tie. "I'm coming home maybe two o'clock. You'll be here, then, and I won't have to go fetch you from wherever you've wandered off to?"

"I'll be here," said Krycek, yawning.

When the man left at 7, Krycek quickly dressed in a killer outfit: slim black leather jeans, soft black loafers, green knit-silk muscle shirt. He fussed with his hair for a long time, then decided to let it hang. With the black leather jacket, he certainly looked the part of a rock star.

Bill Runningwater whistled when he came out to the kitchen. "You look gorgeous, Alexei! What songs are you going to sing for him?"

"I don't know. Whatever he asks me to sing, I guess. Is that oatmeal?"

Krycek ate some apple-cinnamon oatmeal and contemplated the audition. He'd been very nervous and was glad the Old Man had given him a shot before he left.

He drove to the studio in Woodside and parked the Ferrari. He announced himself to the receptionist, who guided him back to the recording rooms. "Here's Mr. Krycek," she said to ____ _____. _____ took Krycek's hand. "Welcome! How are you this morning?"

"Fine, maybe a little nervous," Krycek admitted.

"Everyone's nervous their first time," the man said. "Here's the band, Freddie, Eric, Jim, Wally. What would you like to sing first?"

"Um, how about 'Mystify'?"

"Mystify it is!" he said, and nodded to the band, then to the audio engineer in the next room.

Krycek sang, "All veils and misty streets of blue. Almond looks that chill divine...Some silken moment goes on forever, and we're leaving broken hearts behind, mm-hmm..." He saw _____, standing behind the engineer, shaking his head. "Is everything OK?" asked Krycek anxiously, into the microphone.

"Everything's fine, Alex! You're amazing, that's why I was shaking my head! You sing Michael Hutchence better than he does! Did," he amended. "Take two, from the top," he said.

"...I need perfection, some twisted selection, that tangles me to keep me alive. In all that exists, none has your beauty. I see your face, and I will survive. Mystify, mystify me. Eternally wild with the power to make every moment come alive. All the stars that shine upon you, well they kiss you every night..."

He came to the end of the song. ____ _____ was all smiles behind the glass partition. He motioned for Alex to step out, gave him the thumbs up. "You were awesome," he said. "I'll sign you on the basis of that one song!"

"No shit?" said Alex, breathily.

"No shit! Did you bring your songs?"

"I've got them here..."

"Are they in notation? I see they are. I'll give these to the band so they can come up with arrangements, OK? These aren't your only copies, are they?"

"Well, I've got them in my head...well, yeah, they're my only copies."

"I'll just have Patty make photocopies; you can keep the originals. Now we'll have you photographed. Follow me to get your makeup done."

"Makeup?" asked Krycek doubtfully.

"Sure, your face, your hair. Everyone has it done, Alex."

"You are very handsome," remarked the makeup artist, Margaret, a woman of middle years. "You don't need much. I'm going to leave the dark around your eyes, it adds to your look."

"Oh? What is my look?"

"Oh, your wild look. Look up and I'll do your lashes. Gorgeous lashes." She stroked on mascara. "And the tiniest bit of liner and shadow, to really bring out those eyes. There! Now your hair," she said, running her hands through it. "I don't know whether to fluff you, punk you, or slick you back. They could be aiming for a Jim Morrison look, especially with those jeans."

"Fluff, then," answered Krycek. "You can always slick or spike it later if they want that."

"OK," she said... "Now look at yourself!"

"Wow," said Krycek. "I didn't know I looked like that!" Looking back at him was a gorgeous rock star-to-be, with huge smoldering eyes and sexy hair.

"You do, hon. Oh, here's your photographer now!"

The photographer introduced herself. "You're ____ _____?" asked Krycek with awe. "You photographed Jim Morrison!"

"Yes, I did, and finally I've met his match! You are every bit as handsome, maybe more so."

Krycek tried not to blush.

"Alex, stand over there. I'm going to be taking these pictures both with a digital camera and with this one here," she said, indicating her Leica. "Now, I want you to stand with your arms at your side. OK, good. Now, one with your arms folded. Good. Now hold this mike and pretend you're singing into it. Great! Now, with this guitar," she said, handing him a Fender Stratocaster. "Do you play guitar?"

"A very little," said Krycek. 

"Even better. Hold it...that's it!"

"Now, take off your jacket and we'll get some more poses. Fold your arms on your chest. Perfect. Stand sideways to me and look back over your shoulder. Good. Arms akimbo. Good. Now take off your T-shirt, let me get some sexy bare shots. Arms over chest. Good. Do you see that fur rug at your feet? Get down on that, give me a very sexual...Great! Oh, fantastic! You love the camera, now let's see if the camera loves you."

She popped the disk into her PC and the screen was filled with Krycek posing on the rug. "Oh, wow!" she breathed. "The camera certainly does love you! You are gorgeous! Come look!"

Krycek looked over her shoulder. "I look OK," he admitted.

"OK? Oh, Alex, how much better than OK!"

"Mr. _____!" she cried. "Come look at these shots!"

He whistled, looking at them. "This is our next star, _____," he said. "I'm so glad I discovered him before anyone else did! I've got a contract for you to take home and look over, Mr. Krycek. If it meets with your approval, then you can bring it back, or fax it back to me."

Krycek drove home down Portola Road with his head in the clouds. 

"How many times will we have to change our meeting room?" complained the Second Elder.

"Only once," said the Smoking Man. "I've taken precautions."

"Oh, and what kind of precautions?" asked the Well-Manicured Man.

"I've rented an inconspicuous American car, for one thing," said the CSM.

"Your son is clever enough to figure that one out, too," said the WMM.

"Not for a while. He's laid up with a broken rib and punctured lung," said the Smoking Man, lighting a Morley.

"The Bureau will no doubt hire a temporary replacement," offered the First Elder.

"They already have," said the CSM. "But he doesn't know us as well as Mulder does. He's had zero contact with any of us."

"All right," said the WMM. "We're going to need another operative. The Scimitar woman was no good."

"They're all no good," said the CSM. "That's why I've been taking care of things myself."

"Does the FBI know you've been killing all their witnesses?"

He snorted. "I'm sure they know, but they won't bother us about it."

"This is a nicer meeting room than the other," the Second Elder said, looking around the room which adjoined the Smoking Man's Menlo Park office.

"Yes, but it's less private," remarked the WMM.

"But closer to where people live, considering your residences are all in Atherton."

"Have you had any further contact with the aliens?" asked the WMM.

"No," said the Smoking Man, "but there was a sighting. I'm going to have to take care of the witnesses. I'm going to meet with the aliens this evening."

"Where?" asked the First Elder.

"Foothills Park," he said.

"What about the rangers?" asked the Second Elder.

"If there is one, I'll take care of him."

"Good God, man! You can't take care of everything with bullets and a good aim!"

"No, but I can take care of a hell of a lot," said the Smoking Man, exhaling smoke.

In the morning, Mulder's chest hurt dreadfully. "You can have some Torodal," said Scully, "but no codeine, because we don't want your respiration depressed."

"Thanks, Scully," he said gratefully, as she handed him the pills. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd do fine, Mulder."

"No, I wouldn't. You're my best friend. Ever."

"And you're mine, Mulder. Now, I'm leaving you with these Torodal pills, and I'm trusting you to make the right decision about when to take 'em. I just got a call from Skinner about the latest sighting."

"What fuckin' latest sighting?"

"Mulder, God, your language. The latest sighting was over Stanford Hospital. Several different people saw it."

"Oh? That means you have a greater chance of getting to the witnesses before he does," Mulder said hopefully.

"Yeah, well," Scully said. "We'll try. I sent Johansen out to try to locate one of them."

"So who is the head of the mission these days?"

"I am, until you heal."

"Hey, Bill!" Krycek called excitedly. "Guess what?"

"They signed you up, Alexei?"

"They gave me a contract to read over and sign. Maybe I should have a lawyer look at it?" he asked, hesitantly.

"That might not be a bad idea. Did they photograph you?"

"Yes, they did, and they gave me a disk with the pictures on it. They're going to be mailing me proofs to get my opinion of them."

"Well, let's see those pictures!" Runningwater said, drying his hands on a towel.

"Those are fantastic, Alexei! You look so gorgeous!"

Krycek smiled. "Thanks for saying so. I haven't gotten over my inferiority complex about the arm thing."

"Well, the arm thing is over, Alex. You can relax! You were beautiful even with that disfigurement, how much more beautiful are you now!"

"Thanks!" Krycek said. "What is the Old Man gonna think about all this?"

Runningwater considered. "He'll be very proud of you, but on balance he won't like it, and he might not let you do it, because of the publicity factor. He doesn't want anything in the press, you know that."

"Oh," said Krycek, crestfallen. "Maybe he'll let me go, be my own man, and then I could do it."

"Maybe hell will freeze over tomorrow," said the Navajo. "But maybe he will," he continued thoughtfully.

"Oh, I sure hope so!" said Krycek fervently.

"Alex, we'll be getting all the rest of the horses sometime today or tomorrow, from the Hidden Valley."

"Really! Wow! Including Socks and Jeannette?"

"Yes, we got them back. And we've hired a person to take care of them. He'll be living in the guesthouse out back. His name is Bob."

"Oh, really? What does he look like?"

"Oh, medium to tall, strong build, light brown hair. Nice-looking."

"Oh," said Krycek. "I may know him. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I hate to think of what you're thinking."

"Bob" showed up at noon, and so did the trailers carrying 20 horses. Bob was indeed the person he'd met in Tahiti and again in Foothills Park. How did he know? Krycek wondered.

"I just wanted a chance to work with horses," Bob said honestly, "and these are very fine animals. Which breeds are they?"

"Well, you've met Guardian; he's a Thoroughbred. We have one Thoroughbred mare, an Arabian stallion, Socks right over there is full Arab; we have half-Arabs, some Quarter Horses and even a mustang - that little Pinto mare."

"That's great!" said Bob. "And I'll be living on-premises?" 

"Yes, right over there in that guest house, I suppose. You can eat with us, if you want. Bill here is an excellent cook, and I can cook a few things myself."

"That sounds fabulous!" said Bob. "Bill, are you the owner of this place?"

Runningwater laughed. "Hell, no. It's all owned by the master of the house, whom you will meet today. A warning: don't piss him off. That includes, but is not limited to, keeping your hands off this one," he said, indicating Krycek.

"What does he do when he's pissed?"

"Never mind," said Krycek. "It's not important. Why don't you have lunch with us?"

Lunch was warmed over quiche, still delicious, even on its second day. Halfway through, the front door opened and admitted the Smoking Man. "Hello," he said to Bob. "Mr. Davis? I'm the person who placed the ad. Glad you're joining us. We'll now have close to 40 head of horses here, and we need someone to help care for them." He lit a cigarette, looking speculatively at the young man.

His "gaydar" was functioning, and he imagined Krycek's was too. "There's one rule here: you'll need to keep your hands off Alex," he said to Bob, who started. "He's mine. Now, do you have any questions?"

"Yes," said Bob. "How do I address you?"

The man half-smiled. "People call me various names, some of which can't be repeated in polite company! You may call me 'Mr. Spender', if you wish."

"All right," Davis said. "I will."

"Alex, go to the bedroom and wait for me," he said, inhaling smoke.

Bob looked startled. This guy just ordered Alex about like a slave?

Spender caught his look. "You are going to have to get used to the idea of my relationship with Alex, if you're going to stay here." 

Another order. Geez. "OK," he said, not knowing what else to say. "I think I'll go get acquainted with the horses."

Brian Johansen located the first witness with no problem, another Stanford student living in student housing. "It was probably just a weather anomaly, or something," he said doubtfully. "I mean, I'm surprised that the FBI took my report to the police seriously."

"We take everything seriously," said Johansen. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll record our conversation."

"Sure, whatever," the student said. "I saw this thing, some kind of plane or craft, which seemed to have lights all over it. Some of them were blue, some red, but mostly white. It shone a light, very bright, on me and I couldn't see anything. Then the light was extinguished and the craft, or whatever it was, took off. Disappeared. Just like that!"

Johansen listened raptly and so did not notice when the door opened behind him. "Oh, is he your partner?" the kid asked.

Johansen turned around very quickly, reaching for his gun, but he was not fast enough. He was roughly shoved aside by someone surprisingly strong for his age, and the kid drilled right through his forehead; the shooter turned and ran.

Johansen squeezed off a few rounds, none of which found their mark, then ran to the kid, held him and pulled out his cell phone. "Yes, 911? We have an emergency here." He held the poor kid until the blood and the life drained out of him. He talked to the police, but they shrugged when he told them who'd committed the crime. Their hands were tied; there was nothing they could do. Nothing.

He drove home with a heavy heart to report to Scully, White and Mulder. Only Mulder was home. He lay on the couch watching TV. Sunflower seed hulls littered the couch, the coffee table, end table and the floor. The Shetland Sheepdog pup played on his lap, chewing his fingers.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a slob, Mulder?" Johansen asked.

"All the time," murmured Mulder. "This is a great old movie. Wuthering Heights?"

"Mulder, that guy shot a witness WHILE I was interviewing him. I've never experienced anything like it!"

Mulder looked at him. "'That guy' meaning my father? He pulls shit like that all the time. Get used to it. Did you shoot back at him?"

"Well, yeah. Wouldn't you?"

"Nope. He's my dad. But, having shot back at him, you are now a marked man."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Means cover your ass," said Mulder, chewing a seed. "Hey, Johansen, can you get me a glass of OJ? In the fridge."

"Ok...here you go. What's the puppy's name?"

"I'm just calling him 'Laddie.' He's got a fancy pedigree name, Lochinvar Lad of Stony Brook Heights, or some godawful moniker. I wouldn't use it."

"He's sure cute," said Johansen, holding up the puppy, who licked his face.

"Thanks. Hey, Johansen," Mulder said, drinking his juice.

"Yeah?"

"Two questions: one, do you ever get tired of being so good-looking, and two, are you straight or gay?"

Johansen looked at him, amused. "I never think of myself as good-looking; as for question two, I am both."

"You're bisexual? Really?"

"Yes, as you seem to be!"

"Naw," said Mulder. "The Scully thing...one-time occurrence. A slip. I'm really pretty damned queer. I'm going to bed now," he said, rising with difficulty.

"Here, let me help you," said Johansen.

"Want to come with me?" Mulder asked. "Want to *come* with me?"

"No, Mulder. I'd like to, but business before pleasure and all that. And you're in a committed relationship."

"With someone who gets fucked five times a day by someone else."

"He can't help that and you know it."

Mulder turned and kissed him. He hesitated, then kissed Mulder back. Then he drew away. "Oh, God. What I almost did," he said. "I'm so sorry, Mulder. Really sorry. I can't do this with a colleague, especially on such a scary case. And I can't do it to you. I know how in love Alex and you are. You have to nurture that, Mulder, like a sacred flame that can never go out. OK, I'll help you into bed now."

Krycek went outside with Bob to show him the horses and to describe to him the exact requirements for each animal. "Diablo doesn't get much grain; it makes him fat and full of himself. Arabs are good keepers," he said, glancing at Bob. "They don't need a lot of food, or rich food. They're happy with the alfalfa hay I give them." 

"These horses came from another ranch?"

Krycek nodded. "They do, and now they're here. Do you think you can handle the job?"

"Yes, I think so. May I ask you a question?"

"Certainly," said Krycek, "but I may not have the answer."

"Who owns the horses?"

"He does," said Krycek. "Only Guardian and Diablo are truly mine. Can you ride?"

"A little."

"All right, we'll have to go on a ride together. I'll make sure you've got a gentle horse."

"Why are you with him, Alex?"

The question caught Krycek off guard. "Um, because...Oh, I don't know," he said lamely.

"Do you love him?"

Krycek paused to consider. "Yeah, I do, I guess."

"A lot?"

Krycek looked at him. "I have another lover. He's a little older than me; his name is Fox Mulder, and he's gorgeous and I'm in love with him."

"Well, shit, why aren't you with him then?"

Krycek gave him a tortured look. "I can't leave."

"Why not?"

"Oh, there are a lot of reasons." Lots, lots.

************************************************************************

The tall man drove into Foothills Park in Palo Alto after having dispatched the ranger at the kiosk with a silenced Glock. At this time of day in the winter there was no one else in the park, and he pulled into the parking lot in the small valley and waited.

Soon he saw the craft approaching, heralded by bright lights and a soft whooshing noise. The man stood until he was surrounded by the small pale beings. One of them took his hand so that they could communicate.

"We'll be ready to go into production soon," said the man.

"We'll leave it up to you, how to do this. The scientist who developed the microprocessor will help you in the manufacturing process."

"All right. I've got a list of people," the man said, and produced his Palm Pilot.

"You can download that directly to me," the little alien said, extending his other hand. "Just place that here."

He did, and the information was transferred directly to the creature's hand. He watched, fascinated, as the numbers and letters flowed over, then under its skin, then disappeared from view. 

"These people," the alien said, "will all be protected. No one else will."

"You will accommodate us, then, after colonization?"

"Certainly. It's part of the agreement. When do you think that this item will go into production?"

"I will implement it immediately."

************************************************************************

Dino Giordini had been in the Utah State Prison, near Provo, for five months now. He hated it, but he survived by giving his cellmate and the guards blow jobs on command. They'd found out his sexual orientation early on, and they exploited it. He received special favors from the guards, more time on the yard, candy bars, good socks and underwear, and the like.

He sentence was 15 years, so he studied long on how to escape. He worked in the laundry room for 35 cents an hour, and it occurred to him one day to effect an escape via a laundry truck. He was a small man. If he hid in one of the laundry bags, the ones sent to an outside service, he could do it.

One cold winter's day, he bundled himself in his warmest clothes, long johns, T-shirt, blue prison work shirt, prison-issue jacket and climbed into a laundry bag, pulling the opening as tightly closed as he could. He was lifted and hoisted into the laundry truck with all the bags of legitimate clothing. Once the doors were closed he worked his way out of the bag, and when he judged the truck to be clear of the gates he opened the door and jumped out. The truck was going about 25 miles an hour at that point, and he hit the ground with a painful thump, rolling to absorb as much of the impact as he could. 

He hitched a ride into Provo, where he found temporary work as a laborer. After two weeks of double shifts of this, he quit, taking his paycheck with him, and hitched to California. He knew they were out there because he'd used his boss's PC to hack into the FBI files. He even had the address in Palo Alto. Krycek's address he did not know, but he could find out.

He had to brave some pretty stiff weather in his hitchhiking foray into the far West, but always in his mind was: David White. And Alex Krycek. Upon his arrival in Palo Alto, he went at once to the Victorian White/Mulder/Scully house. Mulder was in but White and Scully were out, so he picked the lock of the latter's home and let himself in. Looking in address books, he finally found what he was looking for: "A. Krycek, ___-____." He slipped out and tried the number at a pay phone. It was answered by an unfamiliar voice.

"Yes?"

"Is Alex there?"

"He is asleep. Who is this?"

"No one," he said, and hung up.

The pay phone began ringing. Giordini stared at it. The guy must have call return. Gingerly, he picked it up and just listened.

"Who the hell is this?" the voice asked suspiciously. "If you call again, I can and will have the call traced, and you won't much like what happens after that."

Giordini hung up again. Boy, who was that guy at Krycek's house?

He called a cab to take him to a car rental agency, and rented a blue Toyota Corolla. This he drove to a low-priced motel, rented a room and had dinner in the café downstairs. Then, following a map, he drove to the address on Alpine Road, and parked. Boy, this sure was a swanky neighborhood, he thought, noting the fancy houses perched on the hillside. Krycek must be making a lot of money these days.

It was night and very quiet, so he picked the lock, admitting himself virtually soundlessly, and pulled one wire out of the alarm box. He tiptoed through the house looking for Krycek, and found him asleep in the arms of an older man. Bet that's the telephone-answerer, he thought. How sweet Krycek looked, his perfect lips slightly parted, his hair tousled and his long dark lashes resting against his cheek. And oh! The beauty of his body, the light but distinct musculature, long legs, broad shoulders and nice biceps. Biceps. Two of them. Two arms. How the hell had Krycek grown another arm? Such a marvel!

The difference in ages between him and the older man was such that the latter could almost have been his father. Giordini wondered whether Krycek minded. Surely, such a good-looking boy could get a really hunky young boyfriend, such as he, Giordini, who'd done a lot of working-out in prison and was now fairly buff.

The older man stirred and Giordini drew back sharply. He didn't know the man, or even who he was, but sensed danger and menace, a man who would ask questions and then shoot, every time.

"Alex," said the man, and Krycek moved slightly. There was a low murmured conversation, then Krycek said "OK." Giordini's naturally prurient curiosity drove him to sneak a peek. Oh, God. He wished he hadn't seen that. Well, maybe he didn't. It would be interesting to watch Alex make love, see what he was like. So Giordini stood in the doorway and watched. He noted the expression on Krycek's face: he seemed to be enjoying himself; and he watched him come, spurting all over the place; and that surely was not faked.

Oh, how he wanted to be in the place of that old man! Maybe there was some way of drawing Krycek away? What about just removing the other man? That shouldn't be too hard. And once he was gone, there would be no impediments between him and the lovely Alex. Giordini let himself out, ran to his car and drove down the hill to his motel.

Scully and White returned. "Why is the door unlocked?" Scully asked, anxiously. "Didn't you lock it, Dave?"

"I clearly remember locking it. It was locked!"

They ran through the house looking for signs of damage, theft or intrusion, but could find none, with the exception of Scully's address book. It was lying open at the "Ks" but the Krycek page was missing. "Oh God, Dave, look at this!" she exclaimed. "Someone wanted Krycek's address or phone number."

"This isn't good," he said grimly. "I don't know who it possibly could have been, but I'm sure he's up to no good."

"Know anyone obsessed with Alex Krycek?"

"Only half the planet," he said casually. "Actually, I do know of someone like that, but he's safely ensconced in the Utah State Penitentiary."

"You mean that guy Giordini?" she asked. "Oh my God, you'd better call the prison to determine whether he's still there!"

"All right," he said, and got the number from Directory Assistance. "This is David White of the FBI," he said to the prison switchboard operator, "and I need to know whether someone named Dino Giordini is an inmate there...Oh, he did? Good Christ! When did this happen?...Oh...thanks."

"Good Lord, Dana, he escaped over two weeks ago! Nice of them to tell me! They should have called the FBI!"

"Oh, shit!" she said. "So now, it looks like he's in the Bay Area. We need to catch him again. How do we do that?"

"Start with the motels, I guess. I'll call Skinner and get him to get me a couple of agents. We'll find him, and when we do, he's going to maximum security lockup and he's never getting out again."

"Do we need to tell Mulder about this? It's really going to upset him."

"We don't," he said thoughtfully, "but we should."

He knocked on Mulder's door. There was no answer, so he let himself in. "Mulder!" he called.

"I'm in here," the sleepy voice called. White walked to Mulder's bedroom and sat down on a chair. "What's up?" asked Mulder, yawning. The puppy sleeping on his chest woke up and began to lick his face.

"Mulder, there's been a crinkle in the case."

"Oh, beyond Johansen's witness having been gunned down right in front of him?"

"Was he?" asked White, raising his brows. "I didn't know that. Who was it, the Smoking Man?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?" asked Mulder. "He's handling all his enforcement this time around. You know that. I told Johansen to get used to it."

White nodded. "It seems like a losing battle."

"It IS a losing battle," said Mulder. "Hey, Laddie," he said, petting the Sheltie. "You should check the dog for wires," he joked.

"On my voicemail is a tip that someone was shot in Foothills Park this evening."

"That'll be his work again," said Mulder. "Must have been a witness to a sighting."

"How," said White, "how can he be such a shit, and then turn around and get you a pet Collie?"

"Shetland Sheepdog," Mulder corrected. "But you're right, it's a type of Collie. He does that because I'm his last remaining child, that we know of. It's that simple."

"Yeah. Now, look, Mulder, this 'crinkle' - it has to do with that fellow Giordini whom we arrested back in Utah on multiple rape and assault charges."

"Yes, he was bad, now he's locked up. What else?"

"He's escaped, and he's somewhere around. He broke into our apartment looking for Krycek, and he took his address and phone number."

"Christ!" said Mulder, sitting straight up. The puppy fell with a little "oof." "Do we know where he is?"

"No, but we're getting agents to look for him."

"I don't want him harming Alex!" cried Mulder. "My God! I'm calling him to warn him!"

"It's pretty late, Mulder. You're just likely to get a very pissed-off C.G.B. Spender."

"I don't care!" Mulder picked up the phone and dialed Krycek's number. No one answered, and it went to voice mail, a remote, generic female voice. "Hey guys," Mulder said, "there's this guy, an escaped felon, very violent, on the loose and he's likely to accost Alex at any time. His name is Dino Giordini. He's about 5'6", black hair, brown eyes. Italian, duh. Call me back!"

He next tried Krycek's cell phone but got the voice mail on that too. "Alex, Alex! This is me! There's an escaped convict on the loose, Dino Giordini, and he's after you. Take all precautions!"

Mulder lay back on the bed, his chest heaving. "God, I hurt," he remarked. "Hand me that Coke and my Torodal, please, White? Thank you!"

"Do you want Scully to come over and look at you?" asked White sympathetically.

Mulder nodded.

Scully was over in a minute. "Are you all right, Mulder?" she asked solicitously, laying a hand on his forehead. Hm, you're a little warm."

"I'm all right, but I'm in pain," he said. "I'll be OK, Scully."

"Did Dave tell you about Giordini?" she asked, glancing at her lover.

"I did," White said. "I'm to blame for upsetting him."

"No, don't blame yourself," said Mulder. "It's just upsetting news. I have two calls over there, for a heads-up."

"Over at Krycek's?" Scully asked. "That actually was probably not a bad idea. Mulder," she said, stroking his hand, "don't you think the Smoking Man will take care of Alex? He barely lets him out of his sight!"

"Yeah, but he goes out a lot. Something could happen to Alex then!"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. He'll have Alex under guard, from the minute he picks up his voicemail. He won't risk anything happening to him."

"I know," he said, "You're right, Scully. You're always right."

She smiled.

The household voicemail was picked up at 5 AM, and the guards called at 5:01 AM, so Scully was correct. The man of the house also quickly found the dismantled alarm system at about this time, so he made sure that Krycek woke to two husky men in his room. "Hey, Bruno, hey Dane," he said amiably, "what the hell are you doing here?"

"Alex, these two men will be guarding you," said the Smoking Man, walking into the room and lighting a cigarette. "Wherever you go, they go."

"To the bathroom?" asked Krycek.

"They'll go ahead of you and secure it."

"God, you're serious about this!" Krycek said. "What gives?"

"I received a tip about a threat," the CSM said. "And I'm choosing to take it very seriously. I want you safe, Alex. If you go outside, these two men will follow you, and if you decide to ride, they will ride along with you. Yes, they do ride, although not like you, Alex." He inhaled smoke.

Krycek hopped in the shower, which was first checked-out by Bruno and Dane. The hot water was soothing and stimulating, and soon he was more awake. Bodyguards? Threat? He only halfway believed his master's story.

He toweled off, dressed, brushed his teeth and went out to the kitchen. Bob was already there, eating and conferring with the Smoking Man. "Bob's been apprised of the situation," said the man. "He claims to have firearms experience, and so I'm arming him with this," he said, sliding a gun across the table. "You, too, Alex. Dust off your Sig and your stiletto."

"All right," said Krycek. Things were moving just a little too fast here. "Can I wake up first?" he asked. 

"Sure, Alex," the man said. "But take this seriously. This guy who's after you, Dino Giordini, was an FBI agent, we can assume he's armed; he escaped from prison recently; and he's obsessed with you, Alex."

"Tell him to get in line," Krycek said, pouring Cheerios into a hand-blown cobalt blue bowl. "But I will take it seriously, since you have."

"All right. I've got to go out now; I'll be back whenever I can. Kiss," he said, and Krycek kissed him obediently. "Be here," he said in Krycek's ear, "and be ready for me." Krycek nodded, smiling at him.

Bob would have given good money to have known what the man said.

The man left at 6:30 and shortly after a Federal Express envelope arrived for Krycek. Bill Runningwater signed for it, and Krycek opened it with interest. "It's my proofs!" he cried. "And a copy of my demo CD! Bill, come look!" Runningwater came and looked over his shoulder. He whistled. "You can really see the detail in these!"

"Yes, they're clearer than the digital ones."

"Whatcha got?" Bob asked with interest, pausing in his task of watering the plants. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "You're a model?"

Krycek smiled. "These are for my CD," he said. "The one I'll be recording."

"So you're a rock star, then?" asked Bob.

"Will be, will be," said Bill Runningwater, thumping Krycek on the back.

"You've been signed?" asked Bob.

"I will be, if I sign the contract," Krycek said. "And I can't sign the contract without asking permission from..."

"You don't need anyone's permission to do that!" exclaimed Bob. "Just go ahead and sign it!"

Krycek glanced at him, at the Navajo, who shook his head. "I can't," he said. "I can't do that, Bob."

"What, does he own you or something?"

"Yes, in point of fact he does," said Krycek thoughtfully.

"Are you two gonna explain this to me?" Bob asked, frowning slightly.

Krycek shook his head. "Look, you didn't know this when you signed on, but you are now an employee of the most powerful man in the world. And he owns YOU, too!"

"Oh, the hell he does! And he's just a businessman!"

"My best friend in college," Krycek said, "used to say that there would never be a third World War because everything is owned by multinational corporations, that they have the true power, not the heads of state, who are just puppets."

"You're saying he has more power than the President of the United States. How can that be?"

"This guy," said Krycek, tapping his lower lip, "has the Armed Forces at his disposal. He has every police department and most of the FBI, the National Security Agency, and the CIA in his pocket. He is the richest man in the world. He is fluent in six languages. He has full access to everything in the Pentagon. He's been conducting covert operations for many years with the knowledge of the highest executive levels in the land. Now you tell me who has the power."

Bob shook his head. "I think you are pulling my leg!" he said, spritzing a fern.

Krycek shrugged. "Believe me or not, you've signed on for the long haul, Bob! There's no turning back."

"Now what the hell does that mean? Does this fern look a little dry to you?"

"Not any more, it doesn't. And what it means, is -"

"I think you've said enough, Alexei," said Runningwater smoothly. "You're looking a little ragged around the edges. Would you like a Mimosa?"

"Yes, but I think I also need a shot," Krycek said, and disappeared into the bathroom, coming out a few minutes later looking woozy. "Bob, I've got to tell you something else," he said. "I'm a junkie."

"He can't help it," said Runningwater. "The Old Man addicted him to heroin."

"Why do you two call him the Old Man?"

"'Cause," said Krycek. "He's old, and he's a man? He's my old man, hence the name. I have another old man," he said recklessly.

"Alexei," said Runningwater.

"His name is Fox Mulder. He's an FBI agent, and he is the, get this, SON of the old man!"

"You're doing the father and the son?" Bob asked in amazement. "How about this maidenhair?"

"Spray it," said Runningwater.

"Yep, I am," said Krycek, grinning. "It's a hell of a thing, isn't it?"

"This is Scully...Oh, hi, A.D., what's up?"

"We've got another dead ranger."

"At Foothills Park! Oh, no! I'm getting really tired of this!"

"So are we."

"Why don't you do anything to protect the witnesses?"

"We keep trying to, but he gets to 'em first."

"Shit," said Scully. "We ought to have a pool of agents out here whose sole function is to protect these witnesses."

"Ah...Uh, we can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because we can't."

"Because he's got you all in his back pocket!" she cried.

"Not me, Agent Scully. Not me. How's the new guy working out?"

"Johansen? Seems to be very chummy with Mulder. He was interviewing a witness yesterday when ol' what's-his-name charged in and shot him."

"Shot Johansen?"

"No, I would've told you about that immediately! Shot the witness, of course."

"What's that barking? Did you get a dog?"

"It's a puppy I'm sitting for Mulder."

"You got him a dog?"

"Well, someone did," she said lamely.

"Well, look. This whole thing is just as frustrating for me as it is for you."

"I don't know how that could possibly be! A.D. Skinner, this case is beyond the pale! Never have we been so powerless!"

"Tell me about the autopsy."

"Fellow seemed to have died from some kind of weird radiation that only affected the cells in the hypothalamus, hippocampus and frontal lobe of the brain. We're still waiting on the lab results."

"What do the Lone Gunmen think?"

"They think it was some kind of positronic energy beam. You know, a positron being a small charged particle like the opposite of an electron?"

"I thought a proton was the opposite of an electron."

"Only in charge, not in mass. A positron has the approximate mass of an electron, which is practically zilch; and it doesn't show up at all until you smash some atoms in an accelerator, or otherwise."

"This guy wasn't anywhere near an accelerator."

"Oh, but he was," she said. "The Gunmen found two extraneous microprocessors in the guy's PC, and in each microprocessor is a long channel, about a mile long, that they think serves as an accelerator. It's coiled inside the processor."

"Oh, then how come the atoms don't just bang into the curved sides of the accelerator?"

"Oh, magnets, or something," Scully said vaguely. "They know much more than I do. Why don't you give them a call?"

"So you gave them the list?" the First Elder asked, sipping his mochaccino.

"I did, so you can stop worrying," said the CSM, lighting a cigarette.

"How exactly did you do it?" asked the Second Elder, curiously.

"That's not germane to this conversation," said the Smoking Man.

"You have an annoying way of keeping things to yourself," said the Well-Manicured Man, gulping coffee.

"You don't have a need to know," the Smoking Man retorted. "When you do, I'll tell you."

"Are you still taking care of the witnesses?" the First Elder asked.

"Yes, I am; I've got two today to reach before the FBI can get to them."

"Don't you want to hire an operative?"

"I don't need one," the Smoking Man answered, expelling smoke. "I have lots of bullets and a good aim."

"You do need help. You can't possibly keep up with all of this stuff yourself," said the Well-Manicured Man.

"What, do you have someone in mind?" asked the Smoking Man, grinding out his cigarette.

"I do," said the First Elder. "It's a woman," he said, to groans.

"Don't tell me," the WMM said, lighting a cigarette, "she's in love with Alex Krycek."

The Smoking Man shot him a hard look. "She'd better not be," he said quietly. "Who is it?"

"An Amanda Jones, code name Ebony," said the First Elder. "She's tough and she's good."

"Is she likely to strike out on her own, as Nightshade did?" asked the CSM, lighting another Morley.

"I don't think so," said the First Elder. "Give her a chance."

"Where will she be housed? What's her number? I want all the particulars, and I want them now," said the Smoking Man. "And if she doesn't work out, I personally will take care of her. The other thing," said the man.

"What is the other thing?" asked the WMM irritably.

"The other thing is that we have to choose a manufacturer for the microprocessors."

"We'll leave that up to Dr. Walker," said the First Elder.

Amanda Jones received the call at her Los Angeles apartment, packed her bags and was on the next flight up to San Jose. She got her firearms past airport security by creating a distraction; she was very good at this. She was a certified hypnotherapist and she was able to hypnotize the security personnel into allowing her access with her weapons.

The flight was routine. She was happy to get into her rental car, though and thence to her furnished apartment in Los Altos.

She was paid a visit by the Smoking Man soon after she arrived. "I pay extremely well, but I am very demanding," he remarked, lighting a cigarette. "Don't fuck up. I have no tolerance of errors. The consequences can be pretty dire."

She nodded. "I don't make mistakes," she said. "Ever." She wondered what he meant by "dire." She knew his reputation: a cold, ruthless killer with no mercy; she wondered whether he would kill her simply for making a mistake. And within a split second, she decided that he would, and that she would take this risk, for she was a risk-taker by nature.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said calmly.

"Why not?" he asked. "Everyone else is."

"But I'm not."

"You're brave," he said, dragging on his Morley. "Here's your first week's pay in advance." He handed her a check for a huge amount of money; she gasped. "Does that seem like a lot?" he asked in amusement. "I told you I paid well."

"Yes, you did," she said.

"Your first assignment is to go interview a couple of witnesses to a UFO sighting. When you've finished talking to them, you'll terminate them."

"Yes, I understand. What about the bodies?"

"I don't care what you do with them. Dump them somewhere or leave them where they've dropped. It doesn't matter."

"The police?"

"Are handled. Don't worry about them. I operate with impunity here."

While the Old Man was out, Krycek drove to Mulder's place and knocked on the door. 

"Yeah, come in, Scully," Mulder called.

"It's not Scully, it's me!" said Krycek, opening the door. Mulder was reclining on his couch under a blanket. The heater worked a little better after White had tinkered with it, but it was still not up to par.

"ALEX!" yelled Mulder enthusiastically. "WOW! Oh, come here, sweetheart!" he said. Krycek kissed him, hard. 

"Want a blow job, Mulder?"

"Actually, I'm not supposed to have any sex," said Mulder. "But I think a blow job would be OK."

Krycek unzipped Mulder and took out his cock, which was rock-hard. "I wanna fuck you so bad, Mulder," he said.

"Let's do that!" said Mulder eagerly.

"All right," said Krycek, kneeling in front of Mulder. "I'll fuck you, Mulder." He pulled a tube of K-Y jelly out of his jacket pocket, unsnapped himself, took out his cock and lubed it. He lubed his hand, put one finger in. Mulder gasped. Krycek slid a second finger, then a third. Mulder groaned. Finally he slid his whole hand in. Mulder moaned. 

"Oh God, oh God, Alex, that's so good!"

Krycek took Mulder in his mouth, kissing the head, licking down the shaft, sucking him. Then he pulled his hand out and slid his cock in, fucking him. He kissed Mulder, nibbling on his full lips, tonguing his mouth and throat, licking his bottom lip, kissing his throat, down his chest. He took Mulder's huge cock in hand and stroked it in time to his fucking. Mulder gasped and moaned continually until he came all over Krycek's hand, and then Krycek came inside Mulder.

"Oh God, that's so good, Alex! I love you so much!" Mulder breathed.

"I know. And I love you so much!" said Krycek. "Look, it's a puppy!" he said.

Mulder sat up. "This is Laddie. Laddie, this is Alex," he said, as Krycek picked him up.

"He's absolutely adorable, Mulder! Where on Earth did you get him?"

Mulder looked at him strangely. "From my father," he said.

"Are you kidding? He gave you a dog?" Krycek said, shaking his head.

"I've always wanted a dog, and I like the collie types best. How the fuck did he know that?"

"How the fuck does he know anything, and how the fuck does he know everything?"

"Alex, are you OK these days?" asked Mulder anxiously.

"I'm fine. In some ways I'm more than fine. I got my proofs and demo CD from FedEx today and I'm really excited about it all."

"Did they sign you up?"

"They gave me a contract to sign, which I haven't until I run it past the Old Man."

"Oh, well, no way is he gonna OK it, Alex. You know that. No publicity."

"I'm still hoping for the best," said Krycek. "Want me to get the proofs and CD? They're in the car."

"Sure!" said Mulder, and Krycek went out to the Ferrari, returning with the envelope. 

"See!" he said. "Nice pictures, aren't they?"

"They're fuckin' beautiful," said Mulder. "Wow, look at this one," he said, indicating a bare-torso Jim Morrison pose. "You're gonna be the next big thing!"

"Here's the CD," Krycek said. "Just one song, but listen to it!" He placed it in the player and the song "Mystify" suffused the room.

"Fantastic!" said Mulder reverently. "You are so talented, Alex!"

"And now," said Krycek, "I'll finish the blow job I started."

Scully let herself in at the exact precise moment Mulder was screaming, coming into Alex Krycek's mouth. 

"Knock next time," croaked Mulder.

"I said there was to be no sex," Scully said severely. "And I meant it. Alex, you have to honor the fact that Mulder isn't well."

"I do," said Krycek. "I didn't mean to hurt him. I just wanted to take his mind off his aches and pains."

Scully softened. "You didn't hurt him. Don't worry about it. How have you been, Alex?"

"Pretty well. I have the option of signing a recording contract with a subsidiary of Atlantic Records."

"Are you kidding?" she asked. "That's amazing!" He showed her the proofs and played the CD. "Alex, I'm really, really impressed," she said. "I hope you do sign the contract."

"Me too," he said, "but it seems I have this little impediment."

Ebony settled herself into her home then easily located the second witness, a Latino-American groundsperson working near the Stanford stables. "Hi, I'm from the FBI," she said, flashing a faked badge. "I'm here to ask you some questions about the incident you witnessed."

"Flashing lights, some kind of spaceship."

"Did you have any contact with it, or with anything or anyone that came from it?"

"No, I don't think so. Just the ship. Then it flew away."

"Uh-huh. OK," she said, raised her silenced weapon, and blew his face away.

Stepping outside the house, she dialed a number on her cell phone. "It's Ebony," she said. "Second witness dispatched."

"Very good," said the man. There was the click of a lighter. "Get the third, then come by the house. You have my address, don't you?"

The third witness, an older woman who lived in Los Altos Hills, started screaming when Ebony pulled out her weapon. "Hush," she said, and blew a high-caliber hole in her chest. The woman looked down at the ruin of her torso and toppled slowly backward. Amanda drove to the Portola Valley residence. The door was opened by a rather tall Indian man, of perhaps 45 years, with a long, slightly-graying braid down his back. 

"Come in," said the Indian. She was led to the living room, where the Smoking Man sat reading the New Yorker; a young man with black hair lay negligently on the sectional with his head in the man's lap. He turned his face to Amanda, and she realized with a shock who it was: the legendary Alex Krycek. He didn't greet her but simply looked at her in an unnerving way. The CSM looked up. "Ms. Jones, very good. You've got them all. I'm giving you a raise. Alex, say hi to Amanda Jones."

"Hi, Ebony," Krycek said, not smiling.

"Hi, Alex, glad to meet you," she said. She'd been briefed on this aspect of the Smoking Man's life but it was still surprising, surprising about his sexual orientation, surprising that he was so open about it, and surprising that his lover was the actual wild, feral Alex Krycek. Amanda allowed herself to run her eyes caressingly over Krycek's incredibly handsome face, beautiful body.

He turned and looked at her again. "I know what you're thinking," he said, with a smirk. He sat up gracefully, swinging his long legs over the couch. The older man played with his hair, and Krycek looked at Amanda, hard.

The Smoking Man caught Ebony's deer-in-the-headlights look when she saw Krycek, and he laughed to himself. That look was par for the course. "You'll have to get used to it," he said, "everyone else does. And this young man," he said, squeezing Krycek's arm, "is mine. Hands off. If you get anywhere near him, I guarantee you'll be sorry."

"OK," said Amanda Jones. "I won't."

The CSM gave her a substantial wad of cash, while Krycek watched and made for Ebony exactly one kissy-face. He was trying to be obnoxious, she was sure of it.

"Alex, don't do that," the man said quietly after Ebony departed.

"Don't do what?"

"You know. Don't encourage her, for Christ's sake. She's obviously attracted to you. Don't make it worse."

"OK," said Krycek. "Just playing with her a little bit."

"Well, don't. I think you need a shot. Afterwards, go into the bedroom and wait for me."

"I lost the other two witnesses," said Brian Johansen to Scully and White. 

"What do you mean, you lost them?" asked Scully.

"Disappeared off the face of the Earth."

"Aw, shit!" said White. "I'm getting pretty damned sick of this! I'm gonna take that guy out myself!"

"Now, Dave," Scully remonstrated.

"Now Dave nothing! This is bullshit! One step forward, ten steps back!"

"I know," said Scully. "It's beginning to look pretty hopeless."

"Hopeless isn't the WORD, Dana! How can we play a fair game when the guy holds every card? We can't even get protection for our witnesses! I'm calling Skinner right now!"

He dove for a phone and Scully and Johansen caught each other's eye. She shrugged. "It won't work," she said. "Even if we had them protected, he'd get past the defense. That man can do any damned thing he wants." 

"Well, what if one of us did take him out?" Johansen asked slowly. "What if it were me, for example? And you knew nothing about it, of course."

"Wow," said Scully. "Do you think you could do it?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"The man has bodyguards up the yin-yang. And even if you succeeded, you'd be marked, you'd be a dead man. And the Consortium and their scientists could still continue their work without him."

"I still say it's worth a chance," Johansen said. "Look, the way things stand, we have close to zero chance of resolving this case, of saving mankind. With him out of the picture, yes, we have a fighting chance. Yes, the work can still continue in his absence, but it will be seriously impeded. In other words, I don't think they have all the information he has. He does that because he is a secretive bastard, of course, and self-serving, and because he is pretty paranoid; and because it makes him all the more necessary to their efforts."

The conversation with Skinner seemed not to be going well; White raised his usually equable voice a few times and slammed the phone down.

"Hey, chill, David," Scully said, going to him and putting her arms around him. "It can't be that bad."

"Oh, it can. We can't use all resources. We have to rely on just us for our efforts. How can we do it?"

"I have an idea," said Johansen, "but you're not going to like it very much."

Scully looked at him, shook her head slightly, but he continued. "I propose that one of us, namely I, should take him out."

White snorted. "Oh, commit murder, just like that?"

"It wouldn't be murder, just a covert operation."

White looked at him, rubbed his chin. "Could you do it?" he asked at last. "With the minimum of fuss and bloodshed?"

"I believe I could," said Johansen. "Is he armed?"

"Oh, we have to assume that he is!" exclaimed Scully. "Plus, at home he's usually got bodyguards around."

"Aren't those guys mainly there to guard the virtue of Alex Krycek?" grinned Johansen. "Speaking of Krycek, why the hell won't he kill the guy? He's certainly accumulated enough reasons to over the years!"

"We don't know for sure," said Scully, "but it's thought that he cares about the guy. Maybe a lot."

"Oh," said Johansen. "Why?"

"That isn't known either," said Scully. "My guess would be one, they've known each other for so long it's practically like a fairly long-term marriage, two, it's a gay thing and there's attraction, probably going both ways, and three, the old man has helped Krycek out a lot over the years."

"Shit," said White. "Sure glad Mulder's not hearing this! You know, all we hear from Krycek is all the bad stuff the old man does to him. But you know that's not the whole story."

"So, basically, we can't count on Krycek to help us out, that's what you two are saying," said Johansen, stretching.

"That's what we're saying," said White. 

"So do you want me to go scope out his house, or try to tail him to his meeting, or what?"

"We don't know what he drives nowadays," said Scully thoughtfully, "but it would surely not be his Mercedes or his Porsche, or Krycek's Ferrari. Something inconspicuous, I'll bet, and I guess you could check with the rental agencies. Or he might have leased it, in which case you'll be shit out of luck. You could try going through his garbage," she smirked, "get charge slips, receipts. They wouldn't be in his name. It would be an alias. So essentially, no good trying to tail him till we learn more. You can go ahead and scope out his house, but Mulder and I have been there and we can give you an idea of the layout. Look, if you can get through the door, I'd say you had a good shot at him. When he's home, he's with Krycek and he's distracted."

Someone knocked on the front door and they all jumped guiltily. "It's me, Mulder," that party called. "I've brought my dog over for sitting," he explained, when they answered the door. "I'm trying to get some sleep, and he keeps chewing on me."

"OK, Mulder," said Scully, lifting the small pup, who licked her nose, "but I'll have to charge you my normal rates for pet-sitting, two dollars a day."

Mulder laughed. "You're funny."

"And you're not supposed to be out of bed! Shoo, shoo shoo!"

"All right," said Mulder, "I'm going back now. Back to bed, OK?"

"We should speak in lower tones next time," said Scully. "He could have overheard us!"

"I don't like this, leaving Mulder out of it," said White.

"You'd like it even less if he heard of our plans to off his dear papa," said Scully.

"Not a lot of love lost between those two," said Johansen. "Mulder's been battling him for seven years. The man's responsible for the death of Bill Mulder, and of Mulder's sister. And he's got his Alex Krycek, and won't let go. And he's responsible for Mulder's current condition, AND he's got one hell of a conspiracy going this time, and is thwarting Mulder's every effort."

"For the 'current condition', he's apologized," said White. "For the rest, he hasn't. Even shoves the Krycek thing in Mulder's face every chance he gets. Get real! Mulder hates the man!"

"And loves his collie puppy," Johansen said thoughtfully.

"Sheltie," said Scully. "I say let's give Johansen's idea a whirl. Let's kind of just continue to brainstorm it until something clicks."

"Are we letting Skinner in on this idea?" asked White doubtfully.

"Hell, no," Johansen said. "We could never do that and expect to keep our jobs!"

"Yeah, for starters," Scully said. "For starters."

It was a cold evening; Bill Runningwater started a fire in the fireplace and Krycek and the Smoking Man sat in front of it until Krycek began to doze off. The man helped him to his feet and down the hall to their bedroom. They were both asleep when Dino Giordini came by. This time, when he picked the lock, he found another lock on the door and a chain lock, too, and he knew he couldn't get past it without breaking something and making a lot of noise. Maybe a window. He suction-cupped a dining-room window, scored the glass in a circle and tapped it to break out a perfect disk of glass. Then he reached around for the handle, found it and turned it, and he was in. He ran to the alarm control box and pulled another wire.

Ah-what luck! There was Krycek, fixing himself a Dagwood sandwich, stereo headphones on and he was even singing to them! He couldn't hear a damned thing. Giordini came up behind him and put his buck knife to Krycek's throat. "Aah!" cried Krycek in a startled shriek.

"Not a word, or I will cut you," Giordini said. "Now, what I want for us to do is to go into one of the spare bedrooms, and there I'll fuck the hell out of you. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you?" 

Krycek squeaked. To demonstrate his seriousness, Giordini drew the knife lightly along Krycek's throat, marking a thin red line that became thicker and dripped a veil of crimson down his neck. "Now, show me the way to a bedroom," Giordini said. "I'm right here with you. Don't even think about making a sound."

He moved Krycek into a room and shut the door. "On the bed," he said. "No, first take all your clothes off, then onto the bed. I've got this gun on you," he said, pulling out a Saturday night special and training it on Krycek. Lie on your back. Is that how he does you, hmm?"

Krycek said nothing, but removed his robe and pajamas and lay on the bed as instructed. "What kinds of things do you two do together, I wonder?" asked Giordini, unzipping himself. "I'll bet you suck great cock, Krycek. I'm just gonna fuck you for now, I want you so bad."

Giordini's back was to the door, and so he did not see the approach of a tall man in a robe. "I've got my gun on you. Get away from Alex Krycek," the man said.

"What?" Giordini asked.

"You heard me. Get the fuck away from Alex Krycek! Now, I want you to walk down the hall ahead of me out to the kitchen. Alex, stay here! Bruno! Dane! I need your help!"

"What're you gonna do to me?" Giordini asked.

"How many guesses would you like? Now please stand right there on the kitchen tiles."

"OK," he said, and shot Giordini in the crotch. The Italian doubled up screaming in agony.

"You can't go around raping my lover and expect me to show you any kind of mercy," said the Smoking Man, lighting a cigarette. Bruno and Dane came running up and so did Krycek, who'd thrown a robe around himself. 

"What'd you do?" Krycek asked, then, when he saw, he said, "COOL!"

"I'm glad you approve," said the CSM. "And now, for the coup de grace," and he shot Giordini through the middle of his forehead. "Clean that up," he said to the guards, and went back to bed.

"You won't have to worry about him anymore, Alex," he said. "Come to bed!"

Krycek was only too happy to comply and clung to the Smoking Man in gratitude, relief and a little bit of anxiety that something like that might happen again.

In the morning, Scully knocked on Mulder's door, bringing him breakfast.

"Thanks, Scully!" said Mulder. "What is it?"

"It's Cheerios, half a grapefruit, coffee, toast and jam," she said, navigating her way through the living room. "Here," she said, putting the tray down.

He was watching TV already; it was tuned to the sports channel. There was a basketball game going on somewhere.

"You're really good at basketball, aren't you?" she asked.

"Played a little in college," he said. "This grapefruit is pretty good!"

"Today's your day to get checked out by a doctor," Scully said. "If everything looks all right, then you can get up and resume some of your daily activities."

"Hell, you're a doctor, Scully. Why don't you check me out?"

"'Cause I'm not a thoracic surgeon or a pulmonologist," she said. "But I will look at you. Pull your sweater up."

He complied, and Scully examined him. "Does it hurt much over the incision and injury?" she asked.

"It's a little tender," he admitted. "But nothing to write home about."

"Uh-huh." She said. There's no sign of infection, you're not running a fever," she said, putting a hand to his forehead. "I'd still wait for whatever the doctor says to do. His name is Dr. Burns," she said, consulting a card. "You have a 10:00 appointment, and I will drive you."

"Thanks," said Mulder.

His appointment with Dr. Burns went pretty well. He was X-rayed and the X-ray consulted. "You're OK," said the doctor. "You can resume your daily regime, which is what?"

"I'm an FBI agent," Mulder said.

"Good Lord," said the doctor, "I had no idea. Did you receive the injury in the line of duty?"

Mulder nodded. "Yep," he said.

"Well, you have my support! What a dangerous job! What are you investigating, may I ask?"

Mulder looked at him. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," he said mildly.

Krycek woke to the sound of banging and pounding. He threw on a robe and went out to the kitchen. "What the hell is that noise?" he asked Bill Runningwater, who was making French toast.

"He's having a fence built around the property. Electrified."

"Good Christ," said Krycek. "How long will it take 'em?"

"As long as it takes," Runningwater said noncommittally. "Here's your toast."

"Thanks. What's that barking?"

"He bought some dogs, too. German Shepherds. They're out back. He'll be bringing them in to meet you."

"Oh, so they won't kill me, basically?" Krycek asked, forking French toast. "This is pretty good, Bill."

"Thank you. Yes, so they'll know you by sight and scent, and they'll know you're part of the family."

"'K, I guess," said Krycek. "Here they are now."

Bruno and Dane each led a dog and the Old Man, two. "These dogs are your friends, Alex. They'll protect you. See, Saturn, Jupiter, Diana, Hera, here is Alex. You can pet the dogs, Alex."

Krycek patted each dog, calling it by name. The Shepherds wagged their tails and licked his hands.

"They'll be superb watchdogs, and they're trained as attack dogs, too, Alex. I hated to have to take this step, but I feel it's necessary."

"All right," said Krycek, swallowing French toast.

When the men left, Krycek picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Mulder," he said urgently, "it's going to be very difficult for you to visit. We had an incident last night, and he's putting up an electrified fence and has four German Shepherd attack dogs."

"What was the incident?" Mulder asked.

"Oh, this escaped convict broke in and tried to rape me."

"Jesus Christ, are you all right?"

"Yeah. He never even touched me."

"Was his name Giordini, by any chance?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, how on Earth did you know?"

"I know stuff," said Mulder. "What happened to him?"

"Oh, he shot him, you know. Well, first he shot to wound and maim, then he shot to kill."

"Sounds like something he'd do. We'll, I'm glad the little bastard is gone. We were really worried about what he might do."

"Yeah, I'm glad too, believe me. Sometimes the Old Man does something good."

Scully was standing in the dining room eating a pear when she spied a familiar figure in a black trenchcoat walking up the sidewalk. "Dave!" she hissed. "Look!"

He looked. "Well, what?" he asked. "We can't exactly gun him down in broad daylight in the middle of a busy street."

"He's going to visit Mulder, I bet," said Scully, gulping the last of her pear.

Mulder received a knock at his door at about 11 AM. "Come in, it's open," he called. "Oh...hi, Dad! What's the haps?"

"I wanted to see how you were doing, Fox," the man said.

"I'm doing great, the doctor said. Just fine."

"That's very good. Are you in much pain?"

"Not too much," Mulder said. "I have this non-narcotic narcotic stuff to take for it."

"Torodal?" the man said, looking at the bottle. "I can get you something stronger, if you need it."

"I don't need it," Mulder said hastily.

"I just want you to be comfortable," the man said. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, just call me. You have my number."

Mulder took as deep a breath as he could, considering. "I need for you to stop killing our witnesses and I need for you to rescind your pact with the aliens, and I need for you not to manufacture that microprocessor."

The man started slightly. Ah, got him, Mulder thought.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Fox," he said, lighting a cigarette. 

"Well, what the hell are you doing in Silicon Valley, then?"

"I'm a businessman, as you know, Fox. I'm looking after my investments."

Scully showed up in the open doorway. "I'm fine, Scully!" Mulder said. "I don't need to be babysat."

The man turned. "Well, Dr. Scully! What is your opinion of how our patient is doing?"

"I think he's doing very well, no thanks to you," she said tartly.

"Ah, Scully of the acid tongue," said the man amusedly. "I've got to be going, Fox. And, Ms. Scully," he said, exhaling smoke, "don't try anything. It won't work."

Scully ran back to her apartment, slamming the door shut behind her and leaning against it, her chest heaving. "Check for bugs!" she gasped.

White looked at her, concerned. "You have reason to believe there are some?"

"Yes, yes! We were out for a number of hours yesterday. They could have come in through the back door, which doesn't have much of a lock."

They checked the phone, the lamps, the walls and finally her search under the couch yielded a tiny transmitter. "Here," she said, her hand trembling. "They were listening! They were listening to us!" and she started to cry.

"Now, now," said White. "They won't be listening any more. I'll get a better lock for that door. We'll start checking for bugs all the time again. I do believe he must have hired someone to take Mahdib's place. And he or she'll be a lot better," he said thoughtfully.

"I can't stand it," Scully sobbed. "He knows everything now! He knows all our plans! He knows about the microprocessors we found! He knows we want to kill him!"

"He's known that for a long time. Everyone wants to kill him. Don't you remember, he was shot and nearly killed several years ago? People wanting to off him? That's almost routine to him now." Anyway, let me take a look at that...Oh, you know, Dana, it doesn't even look functional. It was probably stuck there by Mahdib the Incompetent."

"Everyone wants to kill him except the one man who could do it," Scully wept. "Krycek. Krycek, the assassin, won't hurt a hair on his head!"

"No, he won't," said White. "That doesn't mean we can't still proceed with our plans," he said, crushing the transmitter under his foot.

Krycek received a call around 11 AM. "Hi, it's ____ _____," said the caller.

"Wow, hi, this is Alex Krycek," he said, "what's up?"

"I've had the studio musicians make up arrangements to your songs and I think they're pretty good. I'd like to get you back here to record an entire CD. We can use your five songs and you can do covers for the rest. Do you do any Doors songs?"

"Yes, I do 'The End', I do several more from the first couple albums including 'End of the Night', I do 'Riders on the Storm'; and others."

"Great. I'd really like to hear them. Any other covers?"

"Um, a number of INXS songs, U2 songs, Beatles, anything from the 80's."

"Could you do 'White Wedding'?"

"Yes, I can sing that one pretty well."

"OK, can you come in day after tomorrow morning around 9?"

"Well, sure," Krycek said. "To record?"

"Yes, to record! How do you want your name to appear?"

"I don't know. I have an option?"

"Yes, I was thinking of making you a one-name celebrity, like Madonnna."

"Oh, just 'Alex'?"

"Yes," said ____ ______. "Is your full name Alexander?"

"No...Alexei. I'm Russian."

"All the better! Can you sing, say, "I've Just Seen a Face," in Russian?"

"Of course!"

"Oh, God, that's going to add to your appeal enormously. Russian! That's great!"

Krycek heard the front door open. "I've got to go," he said. "See you tomorrow?"

"See you tomorrow!"

"Alexei," said the man, and swept him into his arms. "Darling! Oh, what could have happened to you last night!"

"I know," said Krycek. "I have you to thank for saving my ass from that little shit," he added, "and believe me, I am grateful!"

"I know you are," the man said, kissing the top of his head. "You know, I think I like your hair this way," he said.

"So does ____ _____," said Krycek, without thinking.

"What?" the Smoking Man said, puzzled. "You're telling me that a Seventies rock star likes your hair this way? What have you been taking, Alexei?"

"Nothing. I'm OK. I had an audition the other day, and I'm being signed on as a recording artist. They took pictures of me, really great pictures; I'll show you. Oh, and you should hear my 'Mystify'."

He got the proofs and spread them out on the dining room table. "See!" he said, and popped the CD into the changer. A better-than-Michael-Hutchence "Mystify" filled the air.

"My God, you're so good," said the Smoking Man softly. "And these pictures-Alex, these pictures are gorgeous!"

"So may I, may I, huh?"

"May you what?"

"Sign up with the record label? ____ ______ thinks I'm gonna make it really big."

"No," said the man softly. "You may not. I can't risk any kind of publicity, Alex, you know that. I'm sorry," he said, "but you can't."

"Oh," said Krycek, expecting this response but dreadfully disappointed anyway. "All right. Can I at least record a CD, so I have all my songs in one place?"

"You can do that," the man said, lighting a cigarette. "But don't sign anything. Give me your contract."

Krycek brought it, and the man casually ripped it into about a hundred pieces, scattering them on the floor. "Clean that up," he said to Bruno.

I can get another, Krycek thought, this is just one of his manipulations.

"Go play with your horses," the man said, "I've got a meeting in about an hour."

"I don't much like this standing out in the hall, waiting for him to come unlock the door," complained the Well-Manicured Man.

"I know, but what can we do?" asked the Second Elder. "We can't use our old meeting room, since Fox Mulder discovered it."

"He's always late," the First Elder observed. "Since the beginning of time, he has been late."

Spender showed up a moment later and unlocked the conference room door.

"May we have keys to this room?" asked the First Elder.

"No," said the Smoking Man. "You may not. I have my reasons."

"Now," he said, when they were all seated, "I want to tell you that Dr. Walker and I have decided on a manufacturer for our microprocessors. It's a company called VisiTek, and they'll start the process immediately, with Dr. Walker's help. Are there any questions?"

"Is this secure?" asked the First Elder.

"Yes, it is. If we end up having any leaks we'll stop them, but I don't foresee any."

"How do we know this?" asked the Well-Manicured Man.

"You'll have to take it on faith," the Smoking Man said, lighting a cigarette.

"I'm tired of taking everything on faith," said the WMM.

"You'll have to trust me."

The hell I will, thought the WMM. "I suppose that's all we can do," he said. "How is the new operative working out?"

"Ebony? Like a dream," the CSM said. "She's very efficient."

"That's good to know," said the First Elder. "I hope she's not going to become sappily sentimental like Scimitar."

"By that, do you mean 'does she have a crush on Alex Krycek'? No, she doesn't," said the CSM. 

"If she develops one, she damned well better not let it interfere with her work," said the WMM.

"I'll make sure it doesn't," said the CSM quietly.

Krycek went outside to look at the horses. To his lasting surprise, Bob was riding Socks, English, and taking him over the fences. "Hey you!" Krycek called, laughing. "You lied to me!"

"How so?" asked Bob, riding up to Krycek.

"You said you didn't know horses, just liked them! And here you are, riding like an expert over jumps!"

Bob laughed. "Well, does anyone really know horses? There's so much to learn about them!" 

"Yeah, you're right," said Krycek. "You've discovered that Socks is quite the jumper, haven't you? I'd like to ride with you. Let me saddle Guardian."

"Does he jump?"

"Like a grasshopper." Krycek saddled the big Thoroughbred stallion, swung up and put him over the fence with room to spare.

"Have you been training him to jump?"

"Yes, and dressage too. Every horse we have has been trained in some level of dressage."

"You need a stable. It's pretty cold at night."

"Yeah," said Krycek, riding up to Bob. "I'll bring it up with the Old Man."

"Let's run 'em into Foothills Park," Bob suggested.

"All right, but this baby was one of the fastest horses in the world. Still is, I imagine. Socks comes from racing Arab blood, but no way could he keep up."

"Let's run 'em anyway," said Bob, so they clucked to the horses and they took off for Foothills Park. Sure enough, Guardian far outpaced the game but beaten Socks, so Krycek reined him up. Socks and Bob reached him and Bob reined his mount alongside Krycek's. "You're incredibly handsome," he said to Krycek. "May I have a kiss?"

Krycek leaned over and kissed him. 

"Oh, my God," said Bob. "You are amazing! No wonder people want you so bad! I mean," he began lamely.

"That's OK!" said Krycek. "That's what you meant! You should catch the other things I do," he said, winking. "But you won't, because I'm owned by someone with absolute power," he said seriously. "And if he ever caught you even flirting with me, he would kill you."

"I think you exaggerate some, Alex," Bob said, moving the horse out in a walk.

"Oh, yeah?" asked Krycek. "Think so, huh? Do you know what happened to my stalker, Giordini, last night?"

"No, what happened?"

"He was shot in the head. But before that he was shot in the crotch, Bob, his pecker and 'nads shot off. Can you imagine? Never cross this guy. One of the worst ways you can cross him is to pay attention to me. For whatever reasons, he is crazy about me, and he doesn't want any competition."

"Wow!" said Bob. "He can do things like that and get away with it? Hasn't he ever been arrested for this shit?"

"Yes, and no. He does whatever he wants, gets away with it, and has the police cowed and cornered."

"Jesus God," said Bob fervently, "what have I gotten myself into?"

Krycek smiled a crooked smile. "I told you. I told you what you've gotten yourself into. He leaned across to Bob and ran a hand through his hair. "Nice kiss," he said. "Let's jump this little creek!"

Krycek and Bob returned rather late to the house. The Old Man was pacing and smoking furiously. "There you are!" he cried. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Oh, Foothills Park and surrounds," said Krycek mildly.

"I worry about you when you're not here," he said. "It's dinnertime. Get Bob in here for dinner."

Over fillet mignon, the Old Man pointed his fork at Bob. "It's nice that you and Alex go on rides together," he said, "but keep your hands off him! It's the same warning I give everyone else, because practically everyone is in love with Alex."

Krycek blushed. "That's a large exaggeration," he said.

"It isn't," said the Old Man, "Alex is beautiful, charming and sexy beyond belief. Am I right, Bob?"

"Um," said Bob, "yes, I'd have to agree with you."

"We need a stable," said Krycek, to change the subject.

"Do we?" asked the Smoking Man, lighting a cigarette. "We'll have one built, starting tomorrow. How many stalls do you need?"

"It needs to be pretty large," said Krycek. "We have forty horses! They don't all need stabling, but the Thoroughbreds ought to be. Maybe 15 stalls?" he asked hopefully.

"That's fine," the man said. "The nights have been pretty cool here."

Scully was working out schematics on her Powerbook. "There are 8 bedrooms, 7 baths, living room, dining room, gym room/den, kitchen, foyers at both doors. There are pastures at the back of the house comprising lots of acreage - about two miles square."

"What are you doing?" asked White. "Want a cinnamon bun?"

"Yes, thank you," she said distractedly. "I want two or three, actually. Did you make these?"

"Yep. Thought it would be a nice surprise for you. You're always hungry, Dana!"

"Well, I'm eating for two - actually, Dave, steel yourself. I had the sonogram today."

"Yes? Is something wrong?"

"No, not at all. I've got twins, Dave!"

His bun fell onto the kitchen floor. She picked it up, dusted it off and crammed it into her mouth. "Don't worry, we'll be fine!" she said, around cinnamon bun.

"Well, I think it's beautiful," he said slowly. "Girls or boys?"

"Both," she said. "One of each. I want to name the girl Sharon Samantha, and the boy Fox David. How's that?"

"Baby, it's wonderful. I'm so happy for us! I love you so much. This is tangible evidence of our love. I've wanted this since I first laid eyes on you, no, since I first saw your picture. So gorgeous, old-fashioned, elegant, like the most beautiful belle of the 19th century."

"Thanks," she said, "so flattering!" and she hugged and kissed him.

"What are you working on?" he asked, looking at her Powerbook.

"Schematics," she said, "wanna look?"

"Sure. Wow, you've got the house mapped out!"

"Well, some of these rooms are kind of guessed at. I took note of them as I walked by, but the exact configurations can't be known."

"Uh-huh," he said. "I don't think you need them, though it would be helpful."

"Hi," Mulder said, walking in without knocking. "Whatcha doing?" he asked Scully, looking at the laptop screen.

"Nothing," she said hurriedly.

"I bet," he said, grinning. "That looks like the layout of the Spender/Krycek house. What are you two up to?"

Scully glanced at White, who shrugged. "All right, Mulder, you're not going to like this," she began.

"Oh, you're planning on 'terminating' him?" Mulder asked. "It isn't something that I don't turn over and over in my head every day, guys. You could have confided in me, Scully," he said in hurt tones. "What were you expecting me to do? Warn him?"

"Oh, I thought you liked him now, now that he visited you in the hospital and all that," said Scully.

"Oh, the dog thing? I can love the dog without loving him, you know."

"Yes," said Scully thoughtfully, "it's true. OK, Mulder, we're planning on shooting him, probably at his home. And, oh, Mulder, I know you confide in Krycek. Don't tell him this. It would ruin things for sure."

"Meaning Krycek would save his sorry ass? He might," Mulder said. "He just might."

White nodded. "He would, I'm pretty sure of it."

"Who's the shooter?" Mulder asked.

"The person with the best aim, probably Johansen."

"Oh, you've got him involved in this? Skinner would hit the wall if he knew what we were planning."

"Too bad," White said. "There's so much at stake here that I can't worry about hurting people's feelings."

Mulder looked at him. "You know, you're right?" he asked. "You're really right! When is this to happen?"

"As soon as possible," Scully said. 

"May I have a cinnamon bun?" Mulder asked.

Krycek had an easy assignment: bend over the bed. This way he could mush his face into the duvet and imagine it was Mulder doing him. Whoever it was, it felt really good and he came quickly, groaning and spurting all over the comforter and the man's hand. His contractions triggered the other man's orgasm and he held Krycek around the waist and cried out.

"Alex, have you been faithful to me?" asked the man, sitting on the bed and lighting a cigarette.

"Sure," said Krycek, lying on his back, counting the little earthquake cracks in the ceiling.

"You're a liar," the Smoking Man said, but instead of punching or slapping Krycek he simply sighed. "I'm not going to hit you, although you deserve it. I almost lost you last night, and you're very precious to me. However, I wish you could learn to be faithful. If you're having sex with Fox Mulder, you know that really bothers me but I think he's relatively safe. I don't want you to bring a disease home with you, Alex."

"I won't," said Krycek, and kissed him. They embraced and Krycek put his cheek against the man's chest, listening to the strong and cadenced heartbeat of the mover-and-shaker of the Western world, going forth like soldiers marching, and fell asleep. 

************************************************************************

In the morning, true to his word, the Smoking Man called an architect in to begin work on a stable. The fence was already finished and the dogs installed. "You have nothing to fear from those dogs," he told Krycek, "they have your scent, they know your voice, and they know you by sight. Same goes for Runningwater. So don't worry about them."

When the man left for his meeting, Krycek hopped into his Ferrari and went screaming down Alpine Road. He arrived at the Victorian to find Mulder out; no, he wasn't precisely out; he was at the Scully/White household. Johansen was there too. Krycek knocked and was admitted, although Scully, leaning over her Powerbook, hit a couple of keys to change the screen when he came in.

"Hey, everyone," he said. "I don't know you," he added, extending his hand to Johansen. "Alex Krycek."

"Brian Johansen." Wow! So! This guy really WAS all he was cracked up to be, the most gorgeous eyes he'd ever seen on either sex, smooth skin, small nose, perfect teeth, pretty cupid's bow mouth, good hair, and a beautiful body, what he could see of it, slim but broad-shouldered, graceful, with a fading tan, slim pianist's hands. Johansen motioned him to the side. "You're gorgeous," he said in a whisper in the small left ear. The ear was decorated with a huge emerald stud.

Krycek looked at him, amused. "Funny, I could say the same about you," he said.

Mulder came up. "Hate to break you two up, but Scully wants you, Brian."

"Yes?" Brian asked, and Scully took him aside. 

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Bad idea. Really bad idea."

"What's a really bad idea?" Krycek asked.

Scully and White shot him a desperate look. "Well, what is it?" Krycek asked.

"How do you feel," Scully asked carefully, "about the guy you live with?"

Johansen shook his head vehemently. "No," he warned. "Zip the lip, Scully."

Krycek's brow crinkled. "What's this all about?" he asked. "I don't understand."

"Do you care about him?" said Scully, plunging forward. Johansen rolled his eyes and smacked his forehead.

"I do," said Krycek, "of course I do. What would you expect?" Mulder looked down.

"If something happened to him, would that upset you terribly?" she asked, pursuing her line of questioning.

"Well, yes, I imagine it would bother me some," said Krycek noncommittally. "Now please tell me what this is about."

White shook his head. "We've said enough," he said tensely.

Krycek looked at them, each one in turn. "You can't be," he said softly, "you can't really be thinking of doing that?"

They were each unable to hold his gaze. He shook his head. "This is un-fuckin'-believable! I can't believe you people. This is a human life we're talking about here. What you're contemplating is murder. You just don't give a fuck, do you?"

"Did you think I'd go along with you? Is that what you thought?" he asked, warming to his subject.

"We thought you might," said Scully steadily. "Now you'll take this, our plan, back to him, our enemy, won't you?"

"I'll tell him that there may be an attempt on his life, yes! I don't know your exact plan, of course. You can't get anywhere near the house, anyway. We've got electrified fences and German Shepherd attack dogs."

We, thought Mulder, we. When had it become "we"? As soon as their intentions regarding the Smoking Man were revealed? "Alex, I thought we were on the same side here!" he said, aggrieved. "In fact, I can't believe this! I thought you would welcome a chance to get rid of this guy, your one big problem. Are you well, Alex? Do you have a fever? Do you have a mental illness?"

"I don't," said Krycek. "I'm perfectly well. I will not participate, either actively or passively, in the murder of this man. Yeah, he's been mean to me, yeah, he slaps me around, but he's also done so much for me. Saved my life two nights ago, remember?" he said, looking at Mulder. "So you four can go ahead and try to kill him. If you knew where his office was, you could pick him off there. Or drill him while he's backing out of the driveway. You know what to do. But I'm telling you, he's going to find out about this. I won't mention any names, but I will give him a heads-up."

"Geez," said Johansen softly, "it's true what they say about you two."

"What do they say?" asked Krycek curiously.

"That you love each other," he said. "Sorry, Mulder."

Krycek shook his head. "Mulder and I are deeply in love, despite his transgressions, and there better have been just the one, Mulder," he said, looking hard at his lover.

"There was," Mulder said. "And you should talk, Alex! But I agree with you, you and I are profoundly in love. Forever."

Johansen shook his head. "I hope you don't mind my saying this, but this is a fu-"

"A fuckin' soap opera," they chorused.

"Skinner told us you'd said that," Scully said complacently. "It's pretty memorable. And accurate, albeit incomplete."

"What's incomplete about it?"

"Most soap operas don't involve pacts with aliens, murders every three minutes, modern-day saints, ancient Indian talismans, battles with the Devil, etc." 

"You guys are amazing," said Johansen. "Just amazing. The things you've lived through together, so many opportunities to die, so many opportunities to give up, and you never have, you've just kept plugging away, chipping away at the steel door to truth, rolling back Sysyphus' rock, do or die. You are very courageous. You're menschen, you are!"

"All except me," said Krycek. "I've led a life of shame, and I continue to live it, because I consort with the Devil on Earth. I also have three recent murders to my credit."

"You can't help that," said White quietly. "No one blames you for that, or for killing the spies who were after you and your friends. And you are a brave, brave man for enduring what you've endured."

Krycek looked down. "Thanks," he finally said. Johansen noted the way his thick black lashes lay upon his cheek. Oh, he was so beautiful! He deserved to be with Mulder, or at least in circulation, so that people like Johansen could have a chance with him...just a little chance!

"So the upshot of this encounter group," Johansen said, putting his arms around as many of them as he could reach, particularly Scully and Krycek, "is that we are free to try to kill the Smoking Man, and Krycek is free to inform him of our efforts."

"Shit," said Scully, "If you'll pardon the expression, what's the point, then, of planning to get him? If the Ratboy's going to snitch us off every time we do?" She looked at Krycek and burst into giggles.

"That is my code name, not to mention my screen name," said Krycek. "It is funny, isn't it?" He started laughing too. They looked at him. No one could remember ever having seen Krycek laugh. Mulder, watching him, began to laugh, then Johansen, and last of all White, erupted in gales of laughter.

"I have to get back," Krycek said at last. "Bye, Ratboy!" they chorused.

"I'm hoping that this arrangement will work out for all of us," the tall man said, lighting a cigarette. He was speaking to a middle-aged man who looked a bit like Bill Gates, in a closed office at VisiTek. The company was off Garcia Way in Mountain View, long and low and hidden by mid-growth trees in a manner which made it fit unobtrusively into the landscape.

"You know, California is completely nonsmoking now," the president of VisiTek said, but the tall man merely raised his eyebrows, as though this was interesting news, but not applicable to him.

"Security is all-important," the Smoking Man said, "is this understood?"

"Yes," Mr. Grainger said, "we have the tightest security measures of any tech firm around. We don't even allow visitors back of the reception desk, for example, without their having had a thorough background check. We can do one pretty rapidly, thanks to our government contracts - they allow us to use their 'snoop' software and it just takes a few minutes."

The CSM nodded. "All right. What about the company secrets clause?"

"Built right into our employment contract. And, again because of our government contracts, we have arranged to make it a Class A felony to divulge any company secrets."

"I like that," said the Smoking Man. "I like it a lot. What about the possibility of employees taking their work home, so to speak?"

"Same thing, same penalties. Plus, when they leave work from whatever shift, we make them go through a metal detection machine like they have at airports, and also an X-Ray machine, and both pick up metallic things, such as microprocessors," said Grainger.

"Have you ever caught anyone stealing things?" asked the CSM.

"Yes, a couple times," Grainger said carelessly.

"Are there many who don't get caught, I wonder?" asked the Smoking Man.

"You know, I really don't think so. But all you can do is have faith in the process."

"Speaking of the process, do you think your fabs can handle it? It requires far more than typical etching. This is etching, remember, in the angstrom range."

"Of course it does," said Grainger. "Yes, we can handle it. We'll lean on Dr. Walker at first, of course, for the first little while, and then I believe we can go it alone."

"Dr. Walker will be in later in the day to talk to you. Please make time for him," said the Smoking Man.

"Oh, of course," said Grainger. "You can drown that in my coffee," he said helpfully; the man's cigarette had burned down low.

"You know that he developed the process at Stanford. He will tell you that, but that's all he'll tell you about its origin, and it's all I'll tell you. It's highly sensitive and classified information."

The president of VisiTek nodded. "And you represent the Justice Department?"

"Here's my card," the Smoking Man said. "I am a businessman, working in conjunction with the FBI."

The front door banged open and the tall man came barreling through. "Alex," he said, and pulled Krycek away from his conversation with Bill Runningwater. "Bed," was his second word. Afterward, they dressed and went to the living room, Krycek's head pillowed on his lap. "I've got something to tell you you're not gonna like," said Krycek.

"I can think of any number of things that might be," said the man, rustling the pages of his Wall Street.

"Well, I was over at Scully's," Krycek began bravely, "and if you're gonna hit me, do it now and get it over with!"

"I'm not going to hit you. You were over at Scully's and ?"

"They're all planning to take you out," said Krycek.

"I'm assuming that's not 'take you out' as in 'to the ball'. When is this supposed to happen, and where, and how?"

"That I don't know," said Krycek honestly. "I know nothing of the particulars, and I don't think they do, either, at this point. This is a heads-up."

"And thank you for it, and for declaring your allegiance in such a manner. I give you permission to go and hang out with them," the Smoking Man said.

"And what, spy on them?"

"Yes, precisely. You can accomplish so much that someone like Ebony, good though she is, cannot."

"I don't know that I like the notion," Krycek said. "They're my friends."

"And I'm your friend, and you've just as much told me that I'm more important to you than they are, which of course I can't fail to appreciate. Do they know you're reporting to me?"

It would be so easy to say "no." "Yes," Krycek said, "they do."

The Smoking Man looked at him, astonished. "And they let you stay?"

"They love me," said Krycek huskily.

"They must! But they're courting disaster," the man said, shaking his head. "Well, I haven't found that it helps to overanalyze one's enemies' motivations. It doesn't matter. What does matter is that I've got the upper hand."

"You do have that," said Krycek. He was thinking, freedom to visit Mulder and the gang! Freedom to do what he wanted!

"You can't do everything you want, you know," the Smoking Man said, lighting a cigarette. And I think you have a good idea what the forbidden things might be."

"What, sex with Fox Mulder?" Krycek said bluntly.

"That's for starters. Sex with anyone but me. Carrying tales to them. I think you get my drift."

"Yes," said Krycek, "I do. I understand."

"If I've found out you've made it with Mulder, Johansen - yes, don't start like that, I know who he is; he arrested my Nightshade a couple of months ago, and I know how good-looking he is - or even White, I won't like it at all, and I may even beat the crap out of you to express my displeasure."

"I wish you wouldn't do that. It hurts and traumatizes me," said Krycek.

The man looked at him, startled. He put his paper down and gathered Krycek in his arms. "Alex, darling, darling Alex, I don't want to do that. I don't want to hurt you. I love you. You might think," he said, "that such as I cannot love, but if you thought so, you would be wrong. I love Fox Mulder with a father's love, and I love you with a sweetheart's love, and both are genuine, both real."

"You loved Mulder so much you gave him a punctured lung?" asked Krycek.

The man sighed. "I don't have any patience with espionage! I'll try to make it up to him somehow. And you, I know I've hurt you grievously, Alex, and I feel terrible about that. That's why I keep buying you expensive gifts."

"I know," said Krycek. "It goes that way for abused women."

"Have you been reading, Alex?"

"I just happen to know some things about battered women. And I am the woman in this relationship, you know," he added.

"Yes, I suppose you are. I want you to know that I love you, Alex, and I never wish to cause you pain."

"Then why do you?"

He sighed. "I really don't know why, whether it's from some psychological illness or whether it's just because I'm a big bad mean guy. And Alex, I'm the baddest and the meanest. Bill," he called to Runningwater, "bring me the phone, please. I don't want to make Alex get up."

He punched a speed dial number. "Associate Director Kersh?" he asked.

"Oh, hi, A.D., what's up?"

"Agent Mulder, there's 'trouble', there's 'a lot of trouble', and there's 'a whole damned shitpot of trouble' - which do you think you are in?"

"Uh-oh," said Mulder.

"Yes, exactly. Associate Director Kersh is absolutely livid. You should be ashamed of yourselves! You know this man's off-limits! And confiding in Krycek, who lives with the guy, shares his home, his bed and probably a whole lot more, was just stupid! You had to know that the Ratboy would go squealing home to daddy!"

Mulder rubbed his temples. It seemed that he had the beginnings of a headache. "Hey, A.D., take it easy. I'm still on the mend from this lung thing."

"Yeah, and who gave you the lung thing? What was your IQ, Mulder? Isn't it supposed to be 175 or something? Will you start acting the part?"

"Look, I'm sorry, A.D.," he said. "It won't happen again."

"Well, do you understand that you can't go around plotting to murder someone, anyone, but especially someone like him?"

"Yeah," said Mulder, surreptitiously popping a few sunflower seeds into his mouth. He sucked all the salt off them, cracked one and got ready for the denouement of spitting the hull into his hand.

"I've called you first, as project leader, but I'll also be talking to the other three miscreants. Don't, repeat don't harm a hair on his head. And DON'T repeat anything you do, hear, see, read, say or hear about to Alex Krycek, and that is an ORDER. I've worried about the Krycek connection for some time, and it seems I was right. Put your romantic fantasies out of your head, Mulder. His allegiance is to the Smoking Man."

"It's not," said Mulder. "It's primarily to us. He just didn't want us to kill him."

"That amounts to the same thing," Skinner said impatiently. "If it were to you, then he would have gone along with your plans to kill him."

"Oh," said Mulder. "Oh, now I see what you mean." He cracked a few seeds, anxiously. So Alex did not love him? Didn't love him enough, maybe. Loved the Smoking Man more? No, that was patently impossible. Put that thought out of your head, Mulder. But he loved him enough to want to save his life, and put in motion events which would result in Mulder's getting chewed-out by Skinner. Of course, Alex could have had no idea of the way things would have unfolded. He just didn't want them to kill the guy. It was that simple.

"Pay attention while I'm talking to you," Skinner said.

"Oh-what? What did I miss?" Mulder asked.

"I was just saying, if I find out you've got plans to kill the Smoking Man after all, I personally will fly out there and kick all your asses, and believe me, I can bench 500 and leg press 800 and I can do it."

"We won't hurt him," said Mulder wearily. "We won't even fuckin' try."

"OK, that's what I wanted to hear. I'm making the same call to the Scully/White household, so don't feel picked-on. I called you first, because you're the project leader."

Scully knocked on Mulder's door. "Did you get that call from Skinner?" she asked anxiously.

"Yeah," he said. "What a pisser, huh? Hey, Laddie, don't eat my shoe please!"

"White says he's still gonna do it," Scully said. "Keep that to yourself, please. Don't tell Alex, whatever you do."

"I won't," said Mulder, chewing a seed. "What've you got for dinner, Scully?"

"A baked casserole thingie. Shepherd's Pie. It's good, Mulder."

"All right," he said, "I'll be over in a few."

The call came in at 6:30 PM. White answered it. "Oh, hi, Alex. What are you doing?" You little snitch, he thought, but did not say.

"Writing songs, stuff like that."

"Are you recording yet?"

"Just my audition. I start recording tomorrow."

"My God, how exciting! You'll be a star before we know it!"

"Thank you. May I please speak to Mulder?"

"Sure. Mulder!"

"Hey, Alex. What up?"

"I've got permission to visit you guys whenever I want. He thinks I'm going to be spying on you, and he wants all the information I can get."

"Now why's this, Alex? You told him of our little plot, didn't you? I just got a furious call from Skinner, who undoubtedly received one from Kersh. Who got one from your little friend, I have no doubt at all."

"Well, yeah. I did tell him, as I told you guys I would. I'm sorry, but it goes that way. I'm recording tomorrow, Mulder. Want to meet me at the studio and watch?"

"Well, sure. What time?"

"2 o'clock, 1400 Woodside Road. Would that be all right?"

"It'd be great! I'll see you there!"

"Wow!" said Mulder, hanging up. "He's burning a CD tomorrow at a recording studio. Can you believe it?"

"Mulder, come have some dinner!" Scully said. "Yes, I believe it. Alex is very gifted. But how does his old man feel?"

"Prob'ly doesn't like it at all," said Mulder, playing with his mashed potatoes. "Maybe he doesn't even know about it."

"There's very little that man doesn't know," said White thoughtfully.

The next morning, the man kissed Krycek and told him he'd be out all morning. He drove to Visitek for a tour of the fab.

"This is our fabrication room," the tech lead, whose name was Richard, said. "As you can see, it's state of the art."

"And you can etch something as small as a few angstroms wide?"

"Yes, we can. Come look at a chip we etched, a demo for you."

They looked at the images generated by the scanning electron microscope, and there was the chip with its acceleration channel. "A hydrogen atom will fit through this channel, no problem," the lead said. "And it's approximately a mile long."

"And the barrier that the atoms strike?" the man asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Is this," Richard said, indicating a silicon dioxide wall. "We've treated it, according to Dr. Walker's prototype, to absorb all subatomic particles but positrons, which are thrown off in a very powerful beam. I can't demonstrate it, as it's too dangerous."

"And the source of the hydrogen atoms?"

"Air," the lead said. "Air that is sucked into the chip in a tiny tube. The microprocessor creates a vacuum, and air 'wants' to move into it."

The man nodded. "It sounds good, so far," he said.

"What is this for, by the way?" Richard asked curiously.

"You don't have a need to know," the Smoking Man said.

Krycek was up and about early, very nervous about his recording session. "Don't worry so much!" Runningwater said. "Everything will go fine, you'll see. And even if it doesn't, you know these things are very rarely done in one take."

"True, true," said Krycek, biting his thumbnail.

He drove to the studio with his heart in his throat. What if he wasn't able to sing? What if he couldn't hold a tune? What if he fainted?

____ _____ was there to welcome him. "Hey, Alex," he said easily. "We're ready for you now, if you'd like to start early. And who is this?" he asked.

"This is Fox Mulder. Mulder, this is ____ _____."

"Wow!" said Mulder. "I'm honored to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you! Do you prefer being called 'Mulder'?"

"Yes, thank you. I don't like my first name."

"OK, Mulder, you can stand or sit here and watch Alex, or you can go look at what the audio engineer is doing."

"Thanks. Are you burning a CD today?"

"We might be. Depends on how quickly this goes."

"Let's start with 'Mystify'," _____ said. "You do that so well, and it's a nice tribute to poor Michael Hutchence."

"All right," said Krycek. "What do I do?"

"Go into the studio and put the headphones on. All the band stuff is pre-recorded. All you have to do is listen, and sing."

"'K," said Krycek. He put the headphones on and started the first few bars of "Mystify." His voice was tentative at first but gained timbre and power rapidly.

"Alex, let's do another take," said _____. "That was practically perfect. I think the next take will be perfect."

Krycek sang his way through with a big voice, and _____ was happy with the results. "Now let's do one of your songs. 'Hurt me'?"

"OK," Krycek nodded. "But I'm not familiar with your arrangement for it. Can I listen to it first?"

"Of course. Take your time. Alex, these things generally take months."

Miraculously, Krycek thought, he got through every song, although he was shaking and sweating by the end of the set.

"That's great," _____ said, and handed him a CD in a slipcover. "It's yours," he said, "You burned it."

"My God," said Krycek in amazement. "I don't believe it!"

"We'll do the cover as soon as you tell us which proofs you like."

"Ok, I like the Jim Morrison arms-outstretched one for the front cover, pick any you like for the back cover, and the sexy one on the floor for the inside."

"OK, we've got a graphic artist on staff who will whip this up on the computer for you. Now, did you mail me the contract?"

"No," said Krycek, looking down. "Someone doesn't approve of my recording this CD." "'Someone'?" asked ____ _____, raising an eyebrow. "Would that be the older gentleman in the Porsche? The one who gave you a helping hand out of the San Gregorio General Store?"

"It would," said Krycek miserably. "You saw, then?"

"I saw him shooting you up, and I'm assuming it wasn't insulin. Maybe I can talk to him about the recording."

"I don't know," said Krycek, shaking his head. "He doesn't want any publicity."

Mulder rolled his eyes but held his tongue.

____ _____ looked at them thoughtfully. "We'll see," he said. "As for the other thing, your addiction won't keep you from recording, or even touring, but I'd prefer you were clean. I can give you a Narcotics Anonymous booklet, and I can even have _____ ______ come and talk to you. You know who he is, don't you?"

"Of course I do, and I'd be glad to talk to him."

"You're hurting now, aren't you? I think you probably need a hospital detox, then an outpatient rehab program."

"He got me like this," said Krycek, continuing to shake. "And he's unlikely to let me go into a program."

"He addicted you? Boy, that's unusual," said _____, tapping his chin, "but not unheard-of. Why can't you go get detoxified? What do you mean by 'he won't let you'? I don't understand."

"No," said Krycek, shaking his head. "You don't. This is a very powerful man. He does what he wants to whom he wants, when and where and how he wants to. You've got to believe me!"

_____ looked at him. "You know, this is outside of my experience, but I do believe you. This is very strange! Do the best you can with the contract," he said slowly. "I can talk to him, if you want."

"Won't make any difference, but you can if you want to."

"You should," Mulder said. "You should at least try." He took Krycek's arm, stroked his hair. "We should leave soon, precious."

So, thought _____. The plot thickens. The handsome and talented Mr. Krycek has two lovers, one of them this Mulder, the other the old guy. And the old guy..._____ was suddenly flooded with a sense of power and menace about him. Wow. Poor Alex.

"Where are you?" asked the man, when Krycek called him on his cell phone.

"On my way back from the recording studio."

"You know I don't like it when I come home and you're not here."

Krycek sighed. "It took longer than I expected. But I burned the whole CD! It's done, except for the cover."

"You can't release it, you know."

"Yeah, I know," he said sullenly. "I wanted to record it, anyway. I want you to hear it."

"Well, I am sure I'll be delighted and amazed. Hurry back."

Krycek had to go through the 'gate thing' when he returned: announcing himself, the gate sliding back, admitting him to the grounds. The dogs played and barked, knowing he was part of the household. He parked the Ferrari and let himself in the house. The Smoking Man was reading something in a thick binder. "There you are!" he said. "Come here, Alex!"

Krycek obliged and the man put the binder down on the coffee table. "Let me see the CD," he said. "How many tracks did you record?"

"Ten," said Krycek. "Think that's enough?"

"For what?" the man asked.

"For nothing," Krycek said. "Let me play it." He placed the CD in the stereo and the house was filled with music.

"It's really good, Alex. Very professional. Such a voice you have!"

"I do, don't I?" Krycek asked, grinning. "What's in the binder?"

"Nothing," the man said, picking it up and rising. "I was just putting it away."

"It's that microprocessor, isn't it?" he called after him.

"What do you know about the microprocessor?" the man said, turning slightly.

"I know what Mulder knows," said Krycek carelessly.

"And what does Mulder know?"

"Not much," said Krycek, too late.

"Uh-huh," said the man. "You will tell me what Mulder knows, Alexei," he said, walking back to Krycek and grasping his arm.

"You'll have to ask him; I don't know," said Krycek.

"I think you do," said the man, gripping the arm hard enough to hurt.

"OK," said Krycek, "He knows the chip caused a death, by brain-death. That is truly all I know about what he knows."

"All right," the man said, loosening his grip. "But if you find out anything else, please bring it to my attention immediately. You are on my side, Alexei, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Krycek.

************************************************************************

"This is good leftover whatever, Scully!" Mulder said, chowing down on the Shepherd's Pie.

"Thanks!" she said. "Did you have a good time at the recording studio?"

"I did, and I learned a lot. Do you realize that most CDs take months to produce? Alex burned his in about three hours."

"Wow!" Scully said, wiping her hands on an apron. "I made apple pie, Mulder; there's even vanilla ice cream to put on it. How many songs did he record?"

"I think ten. I think except for the artwork they're all set to release the disk. Can you believe it?"

She nodded. "I can, and I can also believe Someone won't let Alex do that."

"Yeah, Someone doesn't need any publicity; he works in the shadows, his dark deeds unseen. Meanwhile," he said, swallowing potatoes, "Alex's bright light is extinguished."

"No," Scully said, digging into her pie, "I wouldn't put it that way. It's merely hidden from view, until such time as it can be shown to the world."

"That's kind of melancholy, and beautiful, Scully."

"Speaking of collie, how's your puppy, Mulder?"

"Oh, he's fine. He's even going on the papers now."

"Is he the kind of dog you'd want if you'd picked one out?"

"Exactly. The guy's a mind-reader," Mulder said, taking a swig of apple juice.

"How's the pain, Mulder?"

"It's better. It's a little better than tolerable. The Torodal helps. He offered to get me 'something stronger,' you know."

"If he'd done that, you'd now be a junkie yourself," remarked Scully thoughtfully. "And he'd have you under his thumb like he's got Krycek."

"Really? With one dose?"

"With one dose. That's all it takes. Don't take anything from that man," she said, pointing her fork at Mulder. "It's got strings. Including that Shetland Sheepdog."

"How so, the dog?" asked Mulder.

"Oh, he'll come around to 'see how the dog is doing'. Like he cares!" she snorted, took a large bite of pie a la mode. "My guess is, Mulder, he'll send Alex around to spy on us, and don't look so shocked! Alex told him we were planning to kill him, didn't he? He'll tell him other things, mark my words!"

"What, is this the 'hate Alex Krycek' station?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not at all. This is the 'heads-up, time to be cautious' time."

"You don't trust Alex. You don't trust him at all! You really do hate him!"

"I love Alex, Mulder, but I don't trust him right now, no. Think about it, Mulder. One way or another, the Smoking Man will get all Alex knows out of him. Oh, he probably didn't bother before because he didn't know that Alex came by here, or he preferred not to think about it; but now he knows, and he is armed with Alex's information, which was ours alone. And, yes, Alex will be coming by. I bet that's him on the phone now," she said, indicating the ringing instrument.

"Hello?...Yes, this is Scully... Hi, Alex. Mulder's here, yes. Want to talk to him?" She handed the phone wordlessly to Mulder.

"Hey, it's me...Yeah, fine...Yeah, see you in a little while." He replaced the phone and turned slowly to meet Scully's gaze.

"You see?" she said. "The guy's got virtual carte blanche to come over here, given by your friend and mine."

"Well, I'm still in love with him," said Mulder. "That hasn't changed."

"I know," she said. "I really do know."

Krycek showed up fifteen minutes later. "Hey," he said to Scully, and looked meltingly at Mulder. "Uh, we'll be back in a little while," said Mulder, slinging his jacket over his shoulder and heading for the door. Krycek pushed him against his door. "Hey," he said, and took him in a searing kiss, reaching down his jeans to find his cock, huge and rock-hard. Mulder moaned and rubbed against his hand. "Darling," said Krycek, pushed him through the door and up against the foyer wall, knelt, unzipped him, took out his cock and took him in his mouth.

"Oh, God," said Mulder. "That feels so good!"

Krycek licked at first just the head, then up and down the sides, then swallowed his whole cock, licking and sucking until Mulder came, yelling and spurting down Krycek's throat. "Darling," Krycek said again, huskily, "now I'm gonna fuck you. Turn around!" Krycek lubed his hand and then his cock. Mulder grew hard again almost instantaneously. Krycek interlaced his fingers through Mulder's thick hair, pulling his head back. "I'm gonna fist you first, since you seem to like that," he whispered in his ear. He put first one lubed finger up Mulder, and he moaned, then another, and a third. Mulder groaned. Then he slid his entire hand up Mulder, who writhed. "Alex, that's so good!" he gasped. "Fuck me now, Alex!" Krycek pushed his rock-hard cock against the tight ring of muscle and then through it. Mulder gasped again. "All of it, Alex!" Krycek pushed his full length into Mulder, out, then in again. "Fuck me, keep it up, oh please Alex!" Mulder begged. Krycek fucked him and reached around, grasping Mulder's cock, stroking it in time to his fucking.

Krycek came first, his toes curling, screaming Mulder's name, shooting hot come deep into Mulder's heat. Then Mulder came, spurting all over Krycek's hand and the wall. They stayed connected for a moment, then Krycek relaxed, turned Mulder's head, kissed him deeply, tongues connecting and exploring. "Darling," said Mulder, "darling!"

They dressed and went back to Scully's apartment. She was doing dishes and scarfing the last of the apple pie. "I'm eating for three," she explained to Krycek, licking a finger. "I've got twins! One of each," she added. "Have you boys been having safe sex?" she asked, fixing them with a look. "No? I thought not! Do you realize that when you don't use protection, you sleep with everyone your partner has ever slept with, and everyone THEY'VE slept with, and so on?"

"Ugh," said Mulder. "I've just realized whom I've just slept with!"

Krycek laughed. "Now you know how I feel!"

"It gets worse," Scully said. "You've just slept with your own mother, Mulder."

"And my father," he mused. "That's IF she ever slept with him! If she did, you'd never know it!"

Scully giggled. "The soap opera turns Oedipal!"

"Tell me something I don't already know!"

"Alex, I think it's great about your CD. Really fabulous!"

"It would be, if Someone would let me sign the contract!"

"There's no chance of him cutting you loose or anything like that?" asked Scully.

"HA!" said Krycek. "He's in love with me, or its equivalent in his twisted little mind. Do you know how many times a day he -- oops, sorry, Mulder!"

"No, it's OK," said Mulder. "How many times a day is it?" he asked jealously.

"Never mind, I'm sorry I said anything," said Krycek.

"No. Inquiring minds want to know. Tell us, Alex!"

"Three at a minimum. Five, six at a maximum," Krycek said reluctantly.

"Geez! How does a guy that age DO that?" asked Scully. "Is he taking Viagra?"

"Bill Runningwater says no. I don't know."

"What positions?" asked Mulder, his eyes gleaming.

"Mulder, for Christ's sake!" said Krycek. "We're in mixed company here."

"No, I want to know too," said Scully, licking ice cream off her thumb. "Tell us!"

"You perverts!" said Krycek. "I'm the woman in that relationship. Does that tell you anything? And, plus, he has a need to dominate," he added unnecessarily.

"OK," said Mulder, "so you have the world's sorest a--"

"Ahem!" said Scully. "I think I'll excuse myself!"

She went to the kitchen and busied herself mixing up a batch of cookies.

"I'm not supposed to be talking to you, you know," said Mulder. "By order of Walter Skinner."

"Hell, he didn't say you couldn't talk about sex," said Krycek easily.

"How do you know what he said?"

"I don't, Mulder, I'm just guessing. We're not supposed to be talking about microprocessors, stuff like that, I'll bet."

"Are you wearing a wire?" Mulder asked suddenly.

Krycek sighed. "If I were, do you think I would have gone over there and fucked you, complete with sound effects? Boy, that'd give him an earful, wouldn't it? Honestly, Mulder, sometimes you're pretty damned paranoid!"

"I just like to be cautious," said Mulder.

"OK. I'm not gonna spill your secrets, you know."

"You did, Alex. You told him about our plans to kill him. He called Kersh, didn't he? Then Kersh talked to Skinner, and Skinner chewed our asses up and down."

"Mulder, that's different and you know it. I didn't want you to kill him."

"Because you love him."

Krycek sighed. "This sounds like very familiar ground we're going over. Yes, I do care about him on some level. We have like a...a marriage, Mulder."

"Yeah, someone said that, I think Scully. Well, it's the world's worst marriage, then."

Krycek shrugged. "Probably."

The front and back doors opened almost simultaneously, admitting White and Johansen. White said hi all around and left for a back room; Johansen looked challengingly at Krycek. "Hi, Ratboy," he said quietly. The atmosphere in the room became electric.

"Hi, Brian," said Krycek, and made the merest of flirty eyes at Johansen.

"Could I talk to Alex alone?" Johansen asked. Scully raised her eyebrows and she and Mulder retired to the spare bedroom. "Wonder what he wants to talk about? The Skinner thing?" she asked. Mulder shook his head.

"You snitched on us to the Smoking Man," said Johansen, his fists clenched. "I oughta beat the crap out of you!"

"It wouldn't be the first time," said Krycek.

Johansen advanced into Krycek's personal space and raised a hand as if to strike him. Krycek looked at him through black-lashed eyes, leaned forward and kissed him. Johansen, to his surprise, found himself returning the kiss. "Mm," said Krycek. "You don't really want to hit me, do you?"

"No," said Johansen, low. "Do you want to go back to my place? Feel!" he said, guiding Krycek's hand to his cock, which had hardened.

"You're beautiful, but no, I love only one man, Mulder."

"You're a tease!"

"I know," said Krycek, "I am." And a slut, he thought.

"Seems to me you're capable of loving more than one man. In fact, you're already doing it!"

Krycek shifted uncomfortably. "That's different," he said. "That's because I have to. He owns me, body and soul. You don't know what it's like!" he cried. "None of you do! And you don't fuckin' care!"

Mulder and Scully popped their heads out of the bedroom. "Are you all right, Alex?" Mulder asked anxiously.

"No, I'm not all right! None of you understands me! Not a one! You don't get it! You don't understand what I go through, day in, day out. I have to ask fuckin' permission to go anywhere, I have to be there when he comes home, can't do this, can't do that, he beats the crap out of me whenever I've 'transgressed', can't sign a contract like a normal human being, and always, always I am under the tyrannical rule of the one man in the world who can do whatever the fuck he wants!"

"Darling," said Mulder, holding him, "oh, my poor darling, I am so, so sorry it has to be this way. This was one of our reasons for wanting to get rid of him, but you told him! Now how is that, if you hate him so much?"

"I don't know how I feel," said Krycek honestly, "I'm just really, really frustrated." Mulder rocked him where he stood, ran his hand through his hair, kissed him again and again as he wept. "It's OK," he said soothingly. "It's OK, Alex. Cry your hurts out." He noticed after a few minutes, when Krycek's sobs had subsided into hiccups, that he was hard again. He ran a hand down Krycek's jeans, felt his cock. "That feels good," said Krycek. "Do it some more!"

"Uh-oh," said Scully, "they're gearing up for another bout!" Johansen left with one wistful glance toward Mulder and Krycek, and Scully went into the bedroom with White, so it was only the two lovers, touching each other, kissing each other, in the kitchen. "Over the table," said Mulder, and Krycek unsnapped his jeans, pulled them down. He bent over the kitchen table and Mulder, after lubing himself shoved his cock home. Krycek groaned. "Oh God, that's good, Mulder, fuck me! Touch me!" Mulder grabbed his cock and stroked it slowly, and Krycek thought he would go out of his mind. He came first, shooting onto the table, and then Mulder came, with a groan, deep inside him.

Afterward, they showered at Mulder's place. They took turns sucking each other off, Krycek slowly and artistically, Mulder hard and businesslike, and it was rewarding both times. 

As they were climbing out of the shower, someone knocked at the door and the Lone Gunmen came trooping through. "We were right," said Byers, "it is a positronic beam that is emitted by that chip. And by the way, we analyzed the data from the fried neurons of that fellow who died, the brain-dead gentleman, and yes, it is consistent with an assault by this type of energy."

Mulder, pulling on his jeans, gave Byers a stricken look. "What is it?" Byers asked. "We thought we'd pleasantly surprise you with our conclusions, help you along."

"Yeah," said Langly, popping out a sucker.

"Could be a big breakthrough," Frohike observed.

"It's not you guys, it's me," Krycek said, snapping his jeans. "I'm the snitch. I'm not supposed to be told anything sensitive because Someone could get it out of me. It's better that you not discuss such things in front of me."

"The Smoking Man?" asked Frohike. "All you have to do is lie and tell him you don't know anything."

"It isn't that simple, guys," said Mulder. He put his arm around Krycek. "Don't you remember that our Alex, here, is a spy? He's trained to notice things, details, and to remember them. And just as he says, the man could get it out of him. Look!" he said, turning Krycek around and pulling up his shirt. "These are pretty fresh scars, and how do you suppose he got them? The Smoking Man beats the crap out of him for 'disobedience'. This happened at gunpoint, by the way, just in case you think he could cut and run! Faced with this treatment, Alex, like any reasonable person, would tell all he knows. Now you know, guys. Now you know why you can't say anything around Alex."

"Jesus!" said Frohike, who never swore. "I never dreamed..."

"Oh, he's a hard taskmaster!" said Mulder. "The hardest. Alex is tough. He's been through things that absolutely would kill most people. He suffers a lot and hardly ever complains. And I love him so much," he said, kissing him, "so much, that it drives great nails of despair into me to think of him in pain."

"I've got to get back!" Krycek said suddenly.

************************************************************************

"You're damp," the Smoking Man observed. "Have you been running through sprinklers?"

"Obviously, not in the dead of winter," said Krycek, irritably.

"Just as obviously, you've showered. You've been at Mulder's."

Krycek looked at him, dropped onto the sectional.

"You had sex with Mulder, and you weren't supposed to."

Krycek sighed. "So hit me. Hit me now, get it over with."

"I'm not going to hit you, Alexei. Come sit by me."

Krycek moved to the loveseat. 

"Come on, sit closer. There, my love." The man's arm went around Krycek. "Give me a kiss...there! I know you're sulking because you're not with Fox Mulder this minute, but I also know you love me too, and will give me what I want."

"What do you want?" Krycek's green eyes looked into the man's blue ones.

"Well, I want your body, Alex. That goes without saying. But I also want your mind, sweetheart. Specifically, what is in it. What did you learn at the enemy's camp today?"

"They're not the enemy!" Krycek said.

"They certainly are to me! What did you learn?"

"Nothing," said Krycek sullenly.

"Look me in the eye when you say that."

Krycek raised his eyes unwillingly to the man's. "It is as I thought," the man said, "you're lying. Now tell me everything you learned."

"Or else?" Krycek asked.

"Or else I will beat it out of you," the man said smoothly, lighting a cigarette.

"They talked about the chip," Krycek said wretchedly. "The positronic beam being responsible for the brain death and subsequent death; a cell sample of 'fried' cells being consistent with that type of energy."

"So they've figured it out already," the man mused. "I knew Mulder knew of the existence of the microprocessor, and that it killed someone; but I thought that was the extent of their understanding. The FBI doesn't have too many scientific types on its payroll, and Scully is the only M.D. that I'm aware of. Who would have that kind of knowledge?"

Krycek shrugged, deathly afraid to endanger the Lone Gunmen. The Smoking Man didn't bother him, however, for further information. "Well done, Ratboy," he said, clapping him on the back. "And now," he said, pointing. Jesus God, thought Krycek bitterly. Why couldn't this old man be like other old men, unable to conceive of sex as other than a twinkle in a fading eye, a balloon that wouldn't lift, an itch that couldn't be scratched? This old man fucked like a wild stallion; and today he wanted to be sucked like the hard vacuum of the universe pulling at his cock.

Krycek made him come in stars and comets.

************************************************************************

Amanda Jones, nicknamed "Mandy," code-named Ebony, pottered around her elegant apartment, watering the plants which came with it and the ones she bought, including a huge Boston fern; dusted the huge entertainment center, although it did not require dusting; she took a dip in the bathtub-warm pool, rising into the cold air shivering to towel off and dash to the apartment; she cooked an omelet for lunch and a sole ratatouille for dinner.

There'd been no sightings the last couple of days, and she was bored: no one to interrogate; no one to kill. She arranged portraits of her family on the coffee table: her parents, her siblings, cousins. There were no friends because she didn't have any. This was not because she lacked the disposition or the inclination; it was due to her job. Her parents thought she was a writer by trade; although she enjoyed writing she'd never had anything published; but they didn't know this. They only knew, or guessed, at any rate, that the writing business was very lucrative: she drove a Lotus Pantera, dressed in designer clothes, vacationed in exotic locales. No, Mummy and Daddy, she thought, picking up an anniversary picture of her parents, I'm not a writer, not even something humble but respectable like a secretary; I'm a spy. I find things out about people, and I kill them; that's what I do for a living. I'm sorry, so sorry to have let you down.

She sighed. She'd worked for several employers, each one of them scarier than the last. This most recent guy -- he dwelled in the valley of the shadow of death. Spooky assignment -- aliens, for God's sake. Amanda knew there was plenty of evidence to support the existence of extraterrestrial life, and that was the frightening part. Spooky guy -- she knew about him, knew he personally had killed a president, Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King, and that she should be angry about this; but she wasn't; spooky even to visit his household: the Navajo chief, a very spiritual person, in a spirit-crushing environment; and most grievous, the proud and feral Alex Krycek absolutely mashed under his thumb.

It was just at that point when twilight darkens the sky to a navy blue, and she was rearranging dried flowers in a vase for the tenth time when the call came in.

"Yes?...Oh, hi, boss...Oh, that was fast...I should think so...Oh, my God...get him too...Off of Skyline Road?...At night? Now? All right," she sighed. "I'll do it."

"Shit," she said, hanging the phone up. This was a lousy time of day for a wild goose chase. Bear Lake Road? Probably a couple of tire tracks in the wilderness. She was likely to miss the road entirely. But it was kind of an interesting case. Someone who'd allegedly been abducted had called the police; he'd come back. She'd been directed to bring him right to the Boss. Jebediah Smith. Sure sounded the part of an old mountain man.

Driving her rented Ford Explorer up Page Mill Road to Skyline, she encountered a few deer but no aliens. She did miss Bear Lake Road, once on her way there, once back, but eventually she did find the cutoff and roared up the dirt road as fast as she could, jouncing over the rough spots. She was able to locate the Smith farm: a few acres scraped out of the redwood forest, a dead cow (possibly the one that had been mistakenly abducted), and the house itself, a one-story frame structure comprising five rooms at the most. She knocked at the door, and a 60-ish man answered it. "What do you want, Missy?" he asked, in a Southern twang.

"Jebediah Smith? I wonder whether I could ask you a few questions," she said.

"Sure, why not? I don't get a chance to talk to people very often," he said. "Come on in!"

Once inside, she drew her weapon. "I'm sorry about this," she said, "but you've got to come with me."

"Does this have anything to do with the aliens?" he asked.

"Yes, it does. But that's all I can tell you."

"All right," he sighed. "Just let me get a sweater and jacket and stuff."

"I need to follow you while you do that."

"So I don't bring a gun with me?"

"Yes, precisely," she said.

She got him loaded into the Explorer and bumped and jounced all the way back to Skyline, and they were both relieved when they reached that stretch of relatively smooth road.

It was 8:00 when she rang the buzzer at the front gate. She wondered why they now had a fence, a gate and a rash of mean-looking German Shepherds; but thought she wouldn't ask. She was admitted and she pulled up in the semicircular driveway. Alighting from the Explorer, she heard dogs barking and the soft neighing of horses, and saw the front door light go on. "Here we are," she said to Jebediah Smith. He got out rather stiffly. "Nice spread," he said, "yours?"

"Oh, no!" she laughed. "It isn't mine!"

The Navajo fellow was on the doorstep, waiting patiently for them. Ebony kept her Glock trained on her charge till all were inside and down the hall. The Boss was seated on the sectional reading some obscure financial journal with Alex Krycek, wearing a robe and probably nothing else, draped decoratively all over him. The man looked up. "Ms. Jones," he said, "Mr. Smith, have a seat. Ms. Jones, you can put your weapon away. Alex, you can stay, but nothing leaves this room. Understood?" Krycek barely nodded, shifted his position so that he was facing Amanda, gazing at her and her charge keenly.

"Mr. Smith, what are you drinking tonight?"

"Um, just some whisky on the rocks, I think. Thank you!"

"Bill, we need a whisky rocks over here...thanks! Now, Mr. Smith, please tell us about your experiences with the aliens."

"Well," he began, "first, a few days back, I saw them, flashing lights, some red and some blue lights too. It was obviously a spacecraft. I called it in, but then they flashed a beam, like the tractor beam in Star Trek, on me and I was raised up into the craft. Once I was in there, I passed out and came to on a table, and they were doing tests on me. They drilled my teeth and put in implants in my teeth, my sinuses and the back of my neck. I can still feel the one in my neck. Feel!" he said, and the Smoking Man felt the back of his neck. "There is something there," he said.

"Then I passed out again, and whoops! It was this afternoon and I called the police again about it. Then this young lady," indicating Ebony, "came to get me! With a gun! Was I ever surprised! I didn't think I was that important," he said, smiling.

"Is that all you can remember?" the Smoking Man asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Yes, I think so," the man said.

"Please do me a favor. Go over there in the kitchen and stand on the tiles," the CSM directed.

"OK," Jebediah Smith said.

The Smoking Man approached him, pulling his pistol. "I am really sorry about this," he said, "really sorry," and he shot the man between the eyes.

There was a gasp from Amanda's direction. "He was just an old man!" she cried.

"And I'm just an old man," he said. "And anyway, what about those two witnesses you killed just the other day? One was a young kid, not yet 18!"

It was true. She bowed her head. "You'd better get used to it," someone whispered nearby. It was Krycek. "You know who he is. You know what he is. Come to terms with it, or it'll come to terms with you. And Ebony," he said.

She raised her head, soft brown eyes looking into his emerald eyes.

"You've signed on for the long haul. You cannot ever get away. Nobody does. Do you have a nice apartment? Do you have a huge salary? You've sold your soul to the Devil!"

"What are you whispering about, Alex?...Bruno! Get out here and clean this up, please!"

"Nothing," said Krycek. 

The man sat down again. "C'mere, Alexei." 

Krycek sat in his lap; his hands went under Krycek's robe. Ebony was pretty sure she didn't want to watch this; she looked away and rose to go. "My relationship with Alex," the Smoking Man said, "is far from hidden. If it bothers you, you must learn to get used to it. You either adapt to my ways, or you go the way of the dinosaurs."

"Meaning what?" Amanda asked.

"Meaning exactly what it sounds like," the man said, leaning back on the sectional and lighting a cigarette. "Alex, my neck aches. Rub it, will you?"

"Are you threatening me?" she asked, pausing. "I'm not afraid of you!"

"You told me that before, and I will give you a bit of advice: be afraid. You are always in very great danger around me. I am not like your other employers. Nothing you've experienced has prepared you for me. Alex, tell her."

"I've told her," Krycek said. "Ebony, if this man is displeased with you he will kill you. He shot his own son, point-blank in the face."

"Look at Alex," the man said, dragging on his Morley. "At one time, the most dangerous operative in the world. A couple of months ago he nearly flayed to death another dangerous spy. And now, I've tamed him, right, Alex?"

"Yes," said Krycek. "You need to take him seriously, Ebony, especially after what you saw tonight."

"Maybe I'll just seek other employment then," she said, picking up her purse.

"You cannot," the man said, blowing smoke. "You're mine now."

The reality of what he and Krycek had said began to sink in. It was as though she had stepped, three dimensions into two, into one of those horror movies she'd never liked, maybe one on an endless loop, so that she could not escape but had to repeat forever the same useless and pointless actions, attempts to get away, attempts to quell the beast within and without, attempts to die when she could not. She gasped and looked at them. Krycek nodded slightly: the solemn, the sad Angel of Death acknowledging her struggle, recognizing the futility, seeing the inevitability; and Death sat beside him.

"No! No!" she said, and a tear oozed out. "No, it can't be! Oh, no!"

"Oh, but it can and it is," the man said calmly, extinguishing his cigarette in a crystal ashtray and lighting another. "Alex, remove your robe."

He skinned off his robe and truly was completely, stark, staring naked. Amanda gaped. He had an incredibly beautiful body, muscular but slim, broad of chest, heavy of bicep. Krycek resumed his seat in the man's lap and kissed him. "You are uncomfortable with us. Therefore you shall watch us," the Smoking Man said. "Lie down, Alex."

Krycek lay on his back.

Ebony found her voice. "I'm not watching this!"

"Oh yes you are! Bruno, come here! Make sure she doesn't move," he said, and the guard pulled a gun on her. The man pulled a syringe out of a pocket and mainlined Krycek. 

"I'm a junkie," Krycek said by way of explanation.

She watched, horrified, as the young man was penetrated and began to moan and thrust. He wasn't self-conscious, and indeed seemed actually to enjoy it. Then, his long hair spread on the seat cushion, the beryl eyes at half-mast, he looked over at her, and the look said, I'm one of the lucky ones, I get to live, to breathe, to love, to dance in the sunshine, and you, you can be one of the fortunate few too, you don't have to go down into darkness, to the cellar dank with cobwebs and decay, to the cavern, to the kiss of the cold earth, the dainty thread of life cut short by the scissors of the master of death.

"My God," she said, and it seemed to her, as she watched Alex Krycek's toes curl under, heard his shout and saw the tangible evidence of his climax all over the sofa cushion and the man's hand, that what she must do became very clear to her: play along. Play along till something happened to her, or to this man now in the throes of orgasm, so that she may preserve her life.

"Now you've seen us," said the man. "No need to be uncomfortable now. I've got one more thing I want you to see," he said. "Come out back!"

The body of Jebediah Smith lay there. "Alex, get me your hunting knife! Thank you," he said, knelt and cut into the dead man's face. Ebony shrieked, a tiny sound in the great stillness of the night. "I'm looking for implants," he said, cutting into the sinuses. "Here's one," he said, holding it up to her. She shrank from touching the device that had lain in the great bloody hunk of flesh, like a wretchedly-butchered steak, that had once been a man's face. "Take it!" he said, impatiently. "Here's another, and another. Now," he said, turning the man over, "there should be one in the back of the neck." He made three deep gashes, pulling up a hunk of flesh on the knife. "It's in here," he said. "Feel it? Go on, feel it!" He cut it free.

He jerked his head toward Bruno and the gun was holstered. "Go on, go home," he said dismissively, and she rose, picked up her handbag and fled. 

She didn't cry in the driveway, she didn't cry down Alpine Road and she didn't even cry on El Camino, but as soon as she reached her place, she sank down on her couch and wept. No, spies weren't supposed to cry, but she didn't care. What she'd seen in the last hour was enough to turn the stomach of a saint. Speaking of saints...she'd been a Catholic at some now-distant point in her life. Maybe one out of a phalanx of angels, gods and saints would be willing to listen to her. Maybe the new one, Saint Sharon, patroness of the fight against the Devil.

"Saint Sharon, hear me!" she prayed. "I know you had your own battle against the Devil, and I know you were able to prevail. I know that you sit at the right side of the Virgin Mary. I have great need of you. Hear me!"

Then it seemed to Amanda that she sat in a room filled with light, and that a lovely woman, like the most beautiful angel, came to her. "I am Rose of Sharon," she said gravely, "and I know your anguish. You are not alone, for the man is very evil. You cannot vanquish him, however. No human being can. You must save yourself. That is all anyone can do."

"I can't get free of him!" Amanda said miserably. "He has absolute power!"

"No person has absolute power but God."

"What should I do?"

Sharon took her hand. "You must repent...ask forgiveness for all the murders you've committed, and do no more!"

"He'll kill me if I renege on my promise!"

"A promise wrung out of you with a gun."

"Which he will use on me, once I've betrayed him."

Sharon seemed to consider. "There are no easy answers," she said.

"I'm not just going to martyr myself, you know. I like living too much."

Sharon shook her head. "Child, have you considered going through the horns of the dilemma?"

"I don't understand."

"There is an empty apartment on Emerson Street," the saint said, and faded out, and Amanda was sitting alone in her perfectly ordinary albeit elegant apartment in Los Altos, kneeling uncomfortably on the dhurrie rug.

She rose and reached for the phone. She punched in a number. "Walter Skinner...Oh, hi, A.D., my name is Amanda Jones. I am sorry I've called you so late." She took a breath. "I am a spy for C.G.B. Spender and I'm turning myself in...You don't want to jail me, you want to hire me? Oh, that's great!...Yes, I can start tomorrow...yes, I'll go live with them. I'm so grateful to you!" She hung up, and suddenly the terrible things she'd seen this night no longer seized her in their unholy grip. She had hope.

************************************************************************

The Smoking Man spent some time picking out the implants from the hunks of flesh, very carefully, with a tweezers and scalpel, and washing them cautiously with denatured alcohol. "These are microchips," he told Krycek thoughtfully. "If I find out they're 'the' chips, I'm not going to be very happy."

And you're going to give the aliens a piece of your mind, uh-huh, thought Krycek. "What will you do if they are?" he asked.

The man was silent. "I really don't think they are," he said.

"Why put them in then? If your agreement with the aliens is different this time around?" Krycek asked, leaning in the doorway.

"I don't know," said the man tersely. "Alex, you can make yourself useful. Run a hot shower for us."

Christ, another blow-job? Krycek thought, but he said, "OK."

"What would you like?" he asked, in the shower.

"This," said the man, and mushed his face and chest against the shower wall.

************************************************************************

Scully and White were awakened by the sound of someone knocking rather urgently on their door. Scully pulled on her nightgown and put on robe and her bunny slippers and padded out to the foyer. "Who is it?" she asked sleepily, looking beyond the chain-lock to the woman on the other side, an extremely pretty black woman.

"My name is Amanda Jones," the woman said. "Please, may I come in and speak with you?"

"OK," said Scully and permitted her entry. "Have a seat," she said, yawning. "What time -- oh, it's only 6:30. That's AM, right? I'll make us some espresso. Do you like cappuccino?"

"Love it," said the woman. "I was sent here by A.D. Skinner," she explained.

"Oh, really, why? He wanted to apologize for the bench press comment, but was embarrassed to do it himself?" she asked, grinding Italian roast beans.

Amanda smiled. "I wish it were that simple. He hired me to work with you folks."

"Oh, really? First I've heard of it," said Scully. "Is nonfat milk OK?"

"Of course. I--I was working as an operative with C.G.B. Spender."

Scully turned around slowly. "Oh, really?" she asked. "What makes you think I'll believe you're not still working with him? This could be one of his manipulations."

"I see you're very familiar with him."

"Rather too familiar," said Scully. "Eight years, Ms. Jones, eight long years of battling the man and his schemes and his subterfuges and coverups and his murders and goons and...well, you get the picture." she tapped the coffee spoon absentmindedly against pursed lips. "Well, tell me the rest of your story."

"I worked for him briefly, but yesterday I saw him do a whole bunch of terrible things, a whole string of them, and I prayed to my patron saint, and she advised me to come here, so I called A.D. Skinner."

Scully looked at her, astonished. "Did at least one of those terrible things involve Alex Krycek?"

"Yes, how did you know?"

"He better not have hit Alex again," said Scully venomously. "As for the rest, you prayed and had a vision? You're Catholic? I am, as you probably know."

"I'm a lapsed Catholic."

Scully nodded and filled the reservoir with water. "Who is your patron saint?"

"Well, it was Saint Sharon I talked to last night," Amanda said.

Scully dropped the coffee spoon on the linoleum floor. "I knew her," she said slowly, "when she was alive, I mean, alive as you and I are."

"REALLY! WOW!" exclaimed Amanda. "That's really exciting! What was she like?"

"Gentle, loving, all-knowing, saved people's lives. I guess you could have called her an angel, and not have been far off the mark."

"Wow!"

"Here's your cappuccino. It's a fast little machine, isn't it? Alex got it for us."

"Alex Krycek?" Amanda asked, sipping her cappuccino

"The same," said Scully.

"So Krycek is your friend, although he's with the Smoking Man?"

"Oh, yes, Alex is always our friend. Why do you say that?"

Amanda shook her head. "You should have seen those two together."

Scully couldn't resist. "Dish," she said.

"Well, they obviously both enjoyed it."

"It?" asked Scully. "What?"

"Sex, is what. He had a guard pull a gun on me and I was forced to watch."

"Good God!" said Scully, and she burst into giggles. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching for Amanda's hand in an effort to placate her. "It's just funny! It just makes me think of the safe sex thing!" and she collapsed on the table in gales of laughter.

"Yes?"

"Oh, it's just funny...I'll tell you later! What else were you forced to watch?"

"I watched him shooting up Krycek; I watched him shoot an old man; and I watched him butcher the man's face and neck, digging out implants with a hunting knife."

Scully's eyes went very large, her face went green and she ran to the bathroom to hurl. "I'm sorry," she said, coming back. "Morning sickness. Fraternal twins, one boy, one girl," she said proudly.

"Congratulations! So anyway, after seeing all these horrors, I decided to repent and work on the side of good, rather than the side of evil."

"Did your vision have something to do with this?"

"Oh, yes, absolutely. Now, my hope is that everyone here will accept me."

"You," said Scully, pointing a nicely-manicured finger at her, "can provide us with a lot of valuable information about him. Care to? I'll get my recorder."

Amanda laughed. "Can it wait till after I've introduced myself to everyone?"

"Sure," said Scully, and the phone began to ring. "That'll be Skinner," she said eagerly. "Scully...Oh, hi, A.D.," she winked at Jones. "Yes, she's sitting right here...Yes...Yes, I'm so glad!"

She hung up, beaming at Amanda. "You're in," she said. "Welcome to our team!"

White came shuffling down the hallway in his robe. "Morning, Dana. Morning, other pretty lady," he said, and disappeared into the bathroom; they heard the sound of the shower starting shortly after that.

"Not an AM person," said Scully, "whereas I pretty much am. And Mulder is somewhere in between." There was a knock at the door and Mulder and Johansen came through it. "Hi," they said to Amanda, after having been introduced. 

"What's for breakfast, Scully?" asked Mulder.

"Just coffee so far," said Scully.

"I got the call about Amanda a few minutes ago," Mulder said, yawning, "so she's down with me. Even though you did work with the Dear Old Dad."

"Is that what you guys call him?" Jones asked curiously.

"Naw, just me," said Mulder, "cause he's my father." She looked at him in amazement. "Yeah, I don't look like him; I resemble my mother. Oh, you look at me that way because you wouldn't believe I'm the son of the Devil? Well, someone has to be," he said philosophically. "Could I have a latte, Scully? Thanks. OK, here's the rundown on the 'fuckin' soap opera', as Brian here puts it."

"I never," said Johansen.

"Oh, but you would and you did! Anyway, now you know the Smoking Man's my father. We have different last names because my married mother got me out of an affair with the man. OK, you probably know about his relationship with Alex Krycek." He saw her wince. Good God, what had she seen? "Well, guess what? I'm in a relationship with Alex Krycek, too! Scully and her fiance White are in a committed relationship only with each other! They will get married. Alex and I have been married by three religious ceremonies. Well, anyway, Johansen here is looking for a girlfriend and/or boyfriend, and you can see for yourself how cute he is!"

Amanda smiled. "You're quite a character, aren't you, Mr. Mulder?"

"Just Mulder," he said, sipping his latte.

************************************************************************

Krycek sat at the bar eating Cheerios. He liked them, because he had a horror of soggy cereal. The man came rushing out of the shower, dressed in one of his 583 identical dark suits. "Alex," he said, "haven't much time for you this morning. I have to get to a meeting. Give me a kiss!"

"He's in a hurry," Bill Runningwater observed.

"And I think he's upset because he can't reach his spy," Krycek said.

The Indian shrugged. "Maybe she's a heavy sleeper."

"Maybe," Krycek said. "Maybe. And maybe she's hiding."

"Well, time will tell," the Navajo said. "Want some eggs, Alexei?"

************************************************************************

For once, the man was early, arriving before all but the Well-Manicured Man, and so he was ready for them when they came.

"I've met with the VisiTek people again," he began, "and they showed me the wafer-etching fabrication area of the company. They assured me they've got the technology to produce these things en masse, and I gave them permission to do so."

"That sounds good," said the First Elder. "At about which date do they plan on putting them into circulation?"

"They plan to have 5,000 manufactured by the first of the month. That's a conservative estimate. Then of course, they will need to be installed in PCs and Macs, and distributed to local dealers. The whole process for this 5,000 shouldn't take more than two months, three tops."

"OK," said the Well-Manicured Man. "Hit us with the rest of it."

"The rest of it? Well, for one thing I terminated a witness last night. He'd been abducted and microchips placed into his neck and sinuses."

"How do you know that?" asked the Second Elder.

"Because I personally dissected him out," the CSM said, to gasps from the meeting. "You people irritate me with your sissiness," he added. "Show some backbone! Anyway, here are the chips; pass them around but don't break them. Dr. Walker is among us, I see. When the microprocessors make it around to him, he'll keep them and take a look at them. There is some chance that the aliens are actually double-crossing us, and the sooner I find out, one way or the other, the more I'll like it."

"Double-crossing us how?" asked the WMM.

The CSM sighed. "If they're placing implants identical to the positron-emitting microchips, we want to do the same. However, our witness' report last night indicated he was subjected to similar tests as were run in the past, and that in fact this is the same old shit."

"And what do you propose to do about it, if it is?" asked the First Elder.

"Cry," said the Smoking Man, lighting a cigarette. "I propose to withhold our cooperation. The virus has lost its potency; they are insufficiently strong now to take us. Once we decimate the population with the microchip, of course, they will be, but why have an agreement with us now if just to renege, when it will hurt them in the long run?"

The First Elder sipped Starbucks' house blend. "I don't think we should withhold our cooperation until the matter can be further studied," he said.

The CSM sighed. "Have it your way," he said, "but don't come crying back to me when it doesn't work out!"

"Was there more?" the WMM said.

"As a matter of fact, there is more," the Smoking Man said. "Ebony performed well last night, going back to that Skylonda site and nabbing the witness; but I can't reach her this morning and I fear she's defected."

"She may have," said the Second Elder. "What should we do about her?"

"Preferably, shoot her," the CSM said grimly.

"Life is just a rain of bullets to you, isn't it?" the WMM asked crossly. "Can't you just let someone go without shooting them?"

"Why not?" asked the Smoking Man.

"A question the answer to which Alex Krycek has not failed to appreciate," said a wag.

"You leave Alex out of this!" cried the CSM. "This meeting doesn't concern him!"

"No? We heard rumors that you've pressed him back into service as an operative."

"How the hell would you have heard that?" asked the Smoking Man, stubbing out his Morley.

"You just gave yourself away."

"If anyone here has been bugging my house, I would like you to know you are in deep shit!" the man said. "Yes, it's true, he's the Ratboy again, and he's doing a damned fine job," he added, lighting another cigarette.

"What is he doing, exactly?" asked the First Elder.

"Gathering information on the FBI agents assigned to the case. I was able to ascertain what they know about the microprocessor."

"What do they know?" asked the Second Elder.

"Too much," said the Smoking Man grimly, glancing up. "None of them has the technical know-how to have been able to come to the conclusions they've reached. They've got some consultation somewhere."

"You're overlooking something," said the First Elder.

"I overlook nothing."

"You have done it this time," said the First Elder, gravely.

************************************************************************

White came out of the bathroom, dressed, and joined the others at the kitchen table. "Hello," he said to Amanda. "I overheard the conversation. Welcome to our team, Ms. Jones," he added, taking her hand. "We'll help you move into the last empty apartment. It's just a studio, hope you don't mind," he said.

"Of course not," she said, smiling. "I have very little of my own stuff."

"When do you want to move?"

"Now," she said flatly. "I've got all my stuff in the Explorer out there," she said, pointing out the kitchen window.

"Fine," said White easily. "We'll all help you carry it in. Where have you been living?" he asked.

"Los Altos."

"Don't go back there!" he said. "It will be watched."

"I was his only spy."

"Not so!" he said. "And he's got all his goons, you know. Do you not yet know the reach of the man?"

After she'd been moved in, mostly her boombox, her clothes, her files and personal papers, her pictures and her plants, Amanda shed a few tears. "Gratitude," she explained. "I'm so glad to have been snatched right out of the jaws of the dragon."

"I'm sure you are," said White, "but continue to use all caution."

Back in his and Scully's flat, he looked moodily out of the back window. 

"What is it?" Scully asked.

"She'll draw fire," he said. "This isn't exactly a safe-house, is it? She'll endanger all of us."

"Maybe not," Scully said. "Maybe he'll just let her go."

"He never lets anyone go," he said, chewing on a toothpick, "and she's betrayed him, and that's an automatic death sentence from him."

************************************************************************

Krycek sat at the dining room table, drinking coffee and looking out at the dogs, who were playing and evidently having a good time. 

"What are you thinking?" asked Bill Runningwater, joining him for coffee.

"Stuff," said Krycek, "Stuff about last night," he admitted.

"That was a horrific scene, wasn't it?" Runningwater asked. "He had to get those implants out of the guy, you understand why, don't you?"

"Yes," said Krycek, "but he seemed to be enjoying himself, doing it. He's just gotten worse and worse, Bill."

The Navajo looked at him. "You could be right," he said slowly. "I think it's just that so much is at stake here, this time."

"Why should this time be any different from any other fuckin' time?"

"Because it is," Bill said firmly. "Responsibility for the fate of the whole world rests squarely on his shoulders."

"That's not the way Mulder and Scully see it," said Krycek.

"I know," sighed the Indian, "and I can't help that. Go and play with your horses, Alex! Go riding with Bob, poor guy's been hoping you will."

"All right," said Krycek, and went outside.

Bob was exercising the partbred Palomino Goldie.

"Do you like him?" Krycek called, leaning on the fence. Construction on the horse barn had already begun and Krycek had to shout to be heard.

"Who, this Goldie?" asked Bob, riding up at an easy-posting trot. "He's fine! I like them all, Alex, all are beautiful, all have lovely gaits and perform like a dream. Did you train them?"

"Most of them, yes. I'll go riding with you Bob, but I won't wear my faggot riding gear. Just jeans and cowboy boots today!"

"Sure, whatever," said Bob, smiling. "Where do you want to ride?"

"I thought we'd ride out Wunderlich Park way. I'll go pack us a sack lunch."

Since Bob was mounted on Goldie, Krycek chose a bay Anglo-Arab mare, Daphne, who was closely-matched to Goldie in terms of athletic ability. They rode down Portola Road to Woodside and were soon climbing the densely-wooded slopes of the park, past stands of oak, laurel and madrone, on their way to the redwood forests above. On the way up, they passed a man of middle years, a pedestrian, seated on a log. He was dressed pathetically in rags and Krycek's heart went out to him. He called a halt and gave both their lunches and the contents of his wallet, about $500, to the man.

The man thanked him profusely, and said, "whosoever doeth unto the humblest of thee, they also do unto me." Krycek looked at him in surprise, then at Bob, who shrugged his shoulders. "Religous nut," he mouthed. Krycek shook his head, took the man's dirty hand, patted his back, and they resumed their climb. Neither one looked behind him to see the beggar man cast off his dirty cloak to reveal the white and shining being underneath.

"This is called Salamander Flats," called Krycek, reining Daphne to the right, "so-called because it is a tank filled with salamanders, although of course it isn't precisely flat. You have to dismount and get right down to the water to see 'em." They did and they observed many swimming, paddling and diving salamanders.

"Cool," said Bob, "are they edible or anything?"

"Nope, just fun to watch. Want to ride up on Skyline?"

"OK," and they did.

"We'll eat at Alice's Restaurant in Skylonda."

They had hamburgers and observed the biker gangs gathering outside. "They're a fixture," said Krycek. "I used to ride a Harley and sometimes still want to. Maybe I should get one. I'll ask the Old Man."

"Do you have to ask him permission to go to the bathroom?" Bob asked, popping French Fries.

"Just about," said Krycek gravely. "You actually have more freedom than I have. He controls me absolutely. You missed that big scene last night because you've been living in the guest house, and it's good you did."

"What was it like?"

"He made Ebony, the new spy and possibly ex-spy, watch at gunpoint while he shot me up and then fucked me, while he killed a witness and then butchered the body getting out the implants."

Bob shivered. "He's bloodthirsty, isn't he?"

Krycek nodded, taking a bite of burger and a swig of beer. "He is."

"Do you like making love with him?"

"Very much," said Krycek, "but that's partly because I like to fuck with anyone; I love sex."

"Oh?" said Bob, raising an eyebrow. "Wanna make love sometime?"

"I can't," Krycek grinned. "Mulder would kill me, and the Old Man would kill me some more."

They finished their meal in silence, paid and went out to their horses. "Hey!" someone called. It was one of the bikers, dressed in leathers and colors. "You're as pretty as the cutest girl," he said to Krycek. "Wanna be my mama?"

Krycek smiled, blew him a kiss. "I'd love to," he said, "but I'm in a committed relationship."

"Well, it's a shame. Your looks shouldn't be wasted like that," the man said, smiling and walking away to his Harley, which he jumped into roaring power.

************************************************************************

"We've lost Ebony," said the Smoking Man, lighting a cigarette. "I believe I know where she's gone. She's gone to the enemy and will tell all she knows to them."

"Q'uelle disastre!" cried the Well-Manicured Man. "What about containment?"

"Containment? It will happen," he said tensely. "I will pick her off at the Emerson House or when she goes out."

"This is a serious error on your part," said the First Elder, sipping his latte.

"Was she there when you did the butchering?" asked the WMM, "and what else did she see?"

"Yes," said the CSM tightly. "I wanted to insure that she would know who had hired her. And she saw a few more things, yes."

"Administering drugs to your junkie boychik; having intercourse with him, in front of her. Am I correct?"

"I believe that is none of your business!" the Smoking Man thundered, mashing out his cigarette and lighting another.

"I believe that you are losing your mind," said the WMM. "Yes, we know that you're the biggest bastard in the valley; you don't have to constantly demonstrate this; and look, you threw a good operative away, and now she's our enemy!"

"Not for long," the Smoking Man said, exhaling smoke. "Not for long."

************************************************************************

Amanda Jones knocked at Mulder's door. She entered and found him playing with his puppy. "How cute!" she said. "Where did you get him?"

He looked at her. "Dear Old Dad," he said sardonically.

"Oh," she said, blushing a little under her almond skin. "Well, he's cute just the same!"

"Yes, he is. He likes to chew on things, though, wrecked a pair of slippers the other day."

She smiled. "That's what puppies do!" She turned to him. "I came here because you're project leader, that's what Skinner said, and I wanted to tell you that I know my days are numbered, that he will seek me out and kill me."

He was silent. "We'll try to make sure that doesn't happen to you," he said at last. "This isn't a safe house, he knows all about it and has even visited me here. We'll get some of our field agents to guard you. That's all we can do, that I know of."

"Thank you!" she said. "For my part, I will use all caution, but I have accepted the inevitability of my eventual death. It will happen, it's just a question of when." I will come like a thief in the night, and no man knows the hour of my coming.

"You are very courageous!" said Mulder. "And very beautiful. Has anyone ever told you that?"

She looked down. "Some have," she admitted.

************************************************************************

Alex Krycek and Bob Davis rode their horses down the steep trail from Skyline Boulevard. They passed a ranch house on the way. "Let's go knock at the door," Krycek said suddenly. Bob looked at him. "OK," he agreed.

They rode up to the door and dismounted. Krycek knocked, and the door was answered by an elegant and very beautiful young woman with long blonde hair in a long dress and blue shawl. "I've been expecting you," she said, and indicated a feast set on a long table. They looked at each other in bemusement and amazement. The woman walked into another room and did not come out. They sat down hesitantly and, finding that they were hungry, began to eat. The food was such as they'd never had before, exotic and delicious, and they ate their fill. Rising from the table, they went to look for their hostess but could not find her. Windows were open in the house, admitting a cool winter breeze; but they did not feel cold.

Walking out of the house and mounting their horses, they noticed an inscription over the door lintel. "Whosever doeth unto the humblest of thee, they also do unto me."

Krycek was arrested. "It's the same thing the homeless man said," he observed, softly. They rode on down the trail. Krycek couldn't resist turning around in his saddle to look at the house. To his amazement, it was gone, no, not hiding behind a bush or a tree but simply gone.

"Hey, Bob," he said. "We've just had a spiritual experience."

"Is that what that was?" Bob said. "I wouldn't recognize one if it bit me in the face."

************************************************************************

When the Smoking Man returned home he did not find his temper improved by the fact that his Alex wasn't there. "Where the hell is he!" he asked Bill. "They went out riding, that's all, toward Woodside," said Runningwater. The man punched in Krycek's speed-dial cell phone number and he picked it up after a few rings. "Krycek," he answered.

"Alex, where the hell are you?"

"Um, riding with Bob down a trail in Wunderlich Park. We'll be home in less than an hour."

"All right. Come home as soon as possible. I've got a surprise for you."

They trotted down the trail and were home in half an hour, the horses barely winded.

"We're not hungry," Krycek announced to Bill. "We had this weird experience in the woods and well, I'll tell you about it later."

The Old Man was reading the Washington Post, but he looked up as they entered. "Alexei," he called, "so you're back! Come here, love!" Krycek sat by him and the man opened a jewelry box. In it lay two wide gold bands and assorted other jewelry. "See if this fits," the CSM said, picking up a band. "What's this for?" asked Krycek slowly. He turned it around and looked on the inside, which was engraved, "C.G.B.S. and A.S.K., True Love Forever."

"Try it," said the man. Krycek slipped it on his left ring finger, and it fit perfectly. He held up his hand for view. "It's perfect," the man said. "Bill Runningwater will be performing a wedding ceremony for us; Bob will be the witness."

Krycek's jaw dropped. "I'm already married to Mulder, and Bill knows that!" he cried. "Three times I've been married to Mulder."

The Smoking Man took his hand. "Well, now you'll be married to me. As you should be, Alexei."

Krycek threw up his hands. "All right! When does this happen?"

"Right now," the man said. "Give me the ring back for now; I'll slip it on your finger during the ceremony." They stood, waiting for Bill. "Let's have it out back," he said, "the weather's so nice, and I've got all the food back there," so they walked past the sliding-glass doors to the patio.

Runningwater stood and faced them. He was wearing a colorful tribal outfit, feathers in his hair, as befit his role as Chief and Shaman, and held a Bible, his nod to his ministry in the Unitarian Church. The CSM and Krycek stood side by side, arm in arm, waiting for him to begin.

He cleared his throat. "This ceremony supersedes and rescinds all others," he began, and Krycek's jaw dropped again. "And is meant to be the only binding marriage contract entered into by Alexei Krycek."

"Hey, wait," began Krycek, but he was silenced by a look by Runningwater. "Do you, Charles, take Alexei to you, cleaving to no other, promising to love and to cherish, from this day forward, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I do," said the CSM.

"Do you, Alexei Stefanovich, take Charles to you, cleaving to no other, promising to love and to cherish, from this day forward, in sickness and in health, till death do you part?"

"I-I do," stammered Krycek.

"The ring?" asked Bill Runningwater.

"Alexei, this circle of gold symbolizes the purity and eternity of our love," said the Smoking Man, sliding the ring onto Krycek's nerveless finger. Then he leaned forward and kissed him.

"The ceremony is concluded," said Runningwater. "I've had some pretty amazing food catered in, if you're interested."

Krycek wasn't really hungry but he had some champagne and caviar. Actually, he had a lot of champagne, and began to get giddy and giggly. "Time for bed, I think," said his partner.

Runningwater would never know, of course, exactly what went on in that bedroom, but from Krycek's screams and begging for more and the other man's shouts and groans, he could figure it out. They both appeared, two hours later, fully dressed and draped all over each other. "I'd say the marriage has been consummated," said the Navajo, eyeing them.

The Smoking Man had to go out to meet with Dr. Walker, so Krycek was left to his own devices. "Mulder," he said breathily into the phone, "he made us get married."

"He WHAT!"

"You heard me. We had a marriage ceremony performed by Bill Runningwater, in which he declared all previous ceremonies null and void, etc." 

"That rotten Runningwater! I oughta hit him upside the head! How could he do such a thing! He sold out!"

"Well, it's his way of keeping peace in the household. The Old Man has become incredibly violent, brutal, bloodthirsty. I think this is his way of trying to bring him to Earth a little bit, make him more human."

"Wow. Well, did you consummate the marriage?"

"Mulder."

"Ah, so you did. And how was it? Did he pull out all the stops?"

"Mulder, I--"

"So it was good. Hm. It worries me, Alex, that you might get to really liking the guy. You might fall in love with him. Then what am I to do, shave my head and join the Moonies?"

"MULDER! Listen up! I am in love with you, only you. I obsess on you constantly and I even think about you when I have sex with him. Does that placate you at all?"

"Some," said Mulder, chewing on a sunflower seed. "If you're not too tired and sore, come over here for some more."

"Sure," said Krycek.

His Ferrari pulled into their driveway fifteen minutes later. Scully was taking out garbage. "Hi, Alex!" she called. "Mulder just told me. Bummer! But you'll live through it; you always do."

"Yeah," said Krycek. "Mulder at home?"

"He's at my house right now. Go right in!"

Mulder was there, and Johansen, and White, and Amanda, sitting in the living room drinking coffee and Coke and talking animatedly. The talk died down when Krycek was admitted. "Hey, Alex," Mulder said, and took Krycek in a luscious, wet, exploratory kiss. He shoved him up against the wall and ground his hips and groin into Krycek's. Scully giggled. "Aren't you guys at all self-conscious?"

"No," said Mulder, and slid his hand down the back of Krycek's jeans, exploring with his fingers; then down the front, stroking his big hard cock.

Amanda wondered whether this Krycek wasn't some sort of exhibitionist, but Mulder was just as bad. Krycek put his hand down Mulder's jeans, pulled out his huge throbbing cock.

"Hey you guys, they're gonna do it right here, you can watch if you want or excuse yourselves to another room," said Scully.

Mulder unzipped his and Krycek's jeans and took out his cock. He pulled down Krycek's jeans, and, lubing his cock, slipped it into Krycek's ass. Krycek groaned loudly. "Fuck me, Mulder, fuck me!" he begged. Mulder didn't need any encouragement, thrusting in and out of Krycek, grabbing his cock and stroking it, kissing Krycek, biting the back of his neck, licking his throat, nipping his lips. "Did he make you scream?" he asked, in time to his hip thrusts.

"Y-yes," Krycek said unwillingly.

"Well, I'm gonna make you scream more," said Mulder. "How do you like it, nice and slow like this, just barely going in you, out you, how do you like it HARD like this?"

"Hard, fuck me hard Mulder!"

"OK, HARD it is!" and he plunged his huge cock deep into Krycek, who did scream, who did beg for more. Krycek's hands crept to his cock but Mulder, fishing in his pockets, came up with a set of handcuffs and cuffed Krycek's hands behind his back. "That's my job," he asserted, and fucked Krycek and stroked him till he let loose an ear-splitting scream and came all over Mulder's hand and the wall, and indeed the floor. His contractions triggered Mulder's orgasm and he came, holding Krycek, deep in his heat, screaming "Alex!"

The only other party left in the room was Amanda Jones, who sighed and got up to leave. "Alex Krycek, you are unbelievable," she said. She was confused. Just last night she'd seen him submit to the Smoking Man and take great pleasure in that; and now he'd just done the same thing with Mulder. She could sketch out the basic Mulder/Krycek/CSM love triangle, but the particulars, the interior lives of the three people, were a mystery to her.

"Let's fuck on the couch," Krycek said. "This time, I fuck you. Would you prefer me to suck you off while I fist you?"

"Fist me and suck me some and then fuck me with your cock."

"Gladly," said Krycek. Mulder uncuffed Krycek and then lay on the couch, pulled off his sweater and pulled down his pants. Krycek began kissing him at the top of his head, then his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, chin and then his lips, nibbling and feeding especially on his scrumptious lower lip; he kissed Mulder deeply, tongue meeting tongue, exploring the inner recesses of Mulder's mouth. Then he kissed his throat, his chest, ran a wet trail to each nipple, nipped and bit and sucked them till they stood straight up, licked down to his navel, which he sucked; licked down to Mulder's inner thighs till he begged to be sucked, licked his balls, slid a wet tongue up his glorious cock to the head, sucked that, swallowed his cock in one gulp. Mulder moaned. Krycek pulled back, lubed his hand liberally, slid one finger in, then two and then three. When he deemed Mulder wide enough he slid his whole fist in and up. Mulder gasped and writhed. Krycek resumed his sucking, sucking till Mulder was almost ready to come, then pulled his hand out and quickly mounted him, thrusting into the last few seconds of aching pre-ecstasy silence, a quiet and holy place bearing the fruits of the forbidden tree of knowledge, and then Mulder came in a loud and continuous scream, bucking and writhing, spurting three feet in the air. Krycek came soon afterward, yelling Mulder's name.

They embraced, panting, on the couch. "I love you," Mulder said. 

"Oh, God, I love you too!" Krycek said. "I'm always true to you, Mulder, no matter what I have to do." 

"I know," said Mulder. "I do know. But tell me--" 

"Not going there," said Krycek. 

"How'd you know what I was going to say?" Mulder asked.

"I imagine it's some kind of comparison, and I'm not playing that game."

"Just tell me I'm better than he is, and that will make my day. It will make my LIFE, Alex!"

"You are the best, Mulder." 

"And I have a bigger cock?" Mulder asked hopefully.

Krycek sighed. "We've been over this before. He's big, Mulder, he's very big, but he's not quite as big as you."

"And you of the bigger cock can clean that up," Scully said critically, dropping a towel on Mulder.

************************************************************************

The Smoking Man met with Dr. Walker at his office in Stanford. It was the kind of place that required several levels of access, all of which the man had, and he strolled into the office nonchalantly, lighting a cigarette.

"What do you think of the microprocessors?" he asked the acclaimed applied physicist.

"I think they are essentially identical to our test item, and the goods you will be placing into manufacture shortly."

"So the aliens are implanting these things directly into the bodies of abductees? This is puzzling," said the Smoking Man. "Wouldn't they cause an immediate death?"

"Not necessarily," said Dr. Walker. "The vacuum tube could be constructed to open at a signal, say, and then the process would begin."

"I see," said the man. "So there are two approaches to this problem. I will try contacting the aliens and see what they have to say about the abductees, whether this is feasible, whether it could be carried out en masse, which I doubt; versus the implants in the PCs, which CAN be carried to huge numbers of the population. I rather think the latter is the option we will choose."

"I think so," said Dr. Walker. "We already have everything in place: equipment which can manufacture our chips, raw materials, skilled technicians, and a distribution network."

"I actually need to work on that distribution network," said the Smoking Man thoughtfully, drowning his cigarette in a styrofoam cup full of water, and shaking out another. "We require distribution to all first-world countries and a good many of the others, and I and my associates will be contacting middlemen and dealers in these countries. China, for example, just now opening up to technology, with more and more people owning personal computers. Ten percent of 2 billion is 200 million, you know. That's a lot of dead people. Their economy, such as it is, will collapse."

Dr. Walker nodded. "I'm just the scientist, I leave the economics to you; you seem to have a good idea of what you want and what's required."

The Smoking Man nodded, lit his cigarette. "I do. According to your estimation, when will the fab at Visitek be ready to manufacture the chips?"

"I think tomorrow," Dr. Walker said.

************************************************************************

Krycek stayed around the Scully/White house for an hour or so, talking desultorily about this and that. He noticed that no one brought up any sensitive information around him. It was just as well. He didn't want to know it. He noticed Johansen looking oddly at him, and one time the tall, good-looking young man accidentally-on-purpose bumped him. "I've dropped something," he said. Krycek picked it up, a folded piece of paper. He looked at it; it read "you are the handsomest man I've ever seen and the sexiest and you look like an amazing fuck, and I want you. Let me suck you and eat your ass."

Krycek crammed it into his pocket, glad that Mulder hadn't seen. He caught Johansen's eye and motioned him into the spare bedroom. "I can't do this, I'm in a committed relationship," he said. "That's how many committed relationships you're in? Come on, I'll lock the door. Lie on the bed and I'll eat you and suck you. That's all I want to do."

Krycek, before he knew what he was doing, skinned out of his jeans and lay on his stomach. Johansen kissed him deeply, nipped the back of his neck, and rimmed him thoroughly. He flipped him over and sucked his cock hard, as they didn't have much time, and Krycek came, shooting down his throat.

He stood up and pulled on his jeans. "I can't believe what I just did," he said.

"Relax," said Johansen. "You just had a little fun. There's more where that came from. Here's my card. Call me anytime. I've never met anyone as yummy as you are, male or female."

"I'll go out first, then you follow me about five minutes later so Mulder doesn't suspect," said Krycek.

He left to join the throng. Mulder gave him a funny look, hurt and despair mixed with anger and suspicion. Uh-oh. "Alex," he said, coming to his side, "where were you?"

"Nowhere," lied Krycek.

"Uh-huh. I saw you go into that bedroom with Johansen. Were you playing tiddly-winks with him?"

Krycek looked at him and burst into tears. It was unexpected, and it worked. "There, there," said Mulder, "don't cry. I forgive you. What did you do?" he asked.

"He rimmed me and sucked me off, that's all," said Krycek.

"Hm." said Mulder, "now, the question is, how far should I go to defend my honor?" He saw Johansen come out of the bedroom, trying to look nonchalant, walked up to him and decked him. "Ow," said that party, getting up and holding his jaw. "What the fuck was that about?"

Conversation in the house stopped. "Mulder," said Scully, "why'd you do it?"

"This man," said Mulder, "performed a lewd act upon the person of my lover."

"Jesus Christ," said Johansen. "You can't go around hitting people, Mulder!"

"Oh, I saw him hit his own father for the same reason," Scully said, "it's a pattern. Mulder, have a glass of wine and go to bed. It's an order, Mulder."

Mulder sighed. "Alex, Alex, give me a really juicy kiss," and kissed Krycek for about five minutes. By that time, they were both hard again, so they jacked each other off in the foyer. "I've got to go now," said Krycek. "He'll be getting back from his meeting."

"I hate to let you go, I love you so much, so much."

"And I, Mulder, feel the same way about you. I love you with all my heart and soul."

************************************************************************

Fortunately, Krycek made it back a few minutes before the Old Man, and he took the opportunity to take a long, hot shower. Midway through, he was joined by his "husband," who took a soap and soaped Krycek so artistically he quickly became hard again. The man shoved him against the shower wall and took him, slowly and leisurely for a long time, till fireworks went off in Krycek's brain and he came all over the wall, the soapy water quickly washing away the evidence.

Krycek didn't eat dinner but was tired enough to go to bed early, after getting a shot. He was surprised the man did not join him but worked at his laptop, putting in place the scaffolding for whatever schemes he intended to construct; reading technical manuals written by illiterates; pacing and smoking.

He left the house at 2:00 in the morning, slipping his Mercedes down Alpine Road, Foothill Expressway, Page Mill Road and then Emerson, parking and ringing the doorbell of #3. "Who is it?" Mulder's sleepy voice queried. "It is your father, Fox," the man said. "May I come in?"

Mulder was in his PJ's; he pointed wordlessly to the couch. "Want something to drink?"

"No, thank you. How are you doing, Fox? Are you on the mend?"

Mulder nodded. "Yeah. And the puppy's doing great too," he grinned. "He's sleeping on my bed."

"I'm glad. I came over to see how you were and to discuss some important matters with you. Fox, as my sole heir, with the exception of Alex and Bill, you stand to inherit huge sums of money when I die. You inherit my businesses, my banks, my factories, my investments, and their scope is vast beyond your belief.

"Now Fox, if you were working with me, you could keep an eye on my investments. Moreover, you could help me with my current ventures. At present I have only myself to trust, and it is a great burden on me. Join me! You are my son, you have, to put it crassly, inherited my high IQ; use that mind to help me save the world!"

Mulder looked at him and drew a packet of sunflower seeds out of his pocket. He popped one in his mouth. "I don't know what to make of this," he said at last, spitting the hull into his hand. "I didn't know you were in the business of saving the world; I thought you were in the business of destroying it."

"Not for us, Fox. We and ours will be saved."

"You've been telling me that for years. And for years, I have not believed you. When I lay on the surgical table having alien brain matter removed from my brain and placed into yours, I had the most extraordinary visions: You stood at the window, drawing back the drapes on the alien invasion, everything in flames, everything gone down in thunder and ruin."

The man raised his eyebrows. "Do you believe that that is a portent of the future?"

"I think so," said Mulder. "That's why you should join our side, instead of the other way around! Stop being the greatest criminal mastermind of the 21st century and start being a potent force for good!"

The Smoking Man chuckled. "Let's step outside so I can smoke. It's a beautiful night!" They walked toward his car, and he took out a Morley and lit it. The night was clear and many stars were visible; their breaths blew puffs of frosty air.

Scully, taking out the garbage, paused to look at the two men standing talking on the sidewalk. One, the taller of the two, with broader shoulders, wearing a dark trenchcoat, was smoking. And the other was Mulder. She put the garbage carefully away and ran back to her flat, trying to wake White. "Dave! DAVID!" she hissed. "Mmghgerrkl." he said. "Mulder is out there talking to the Smoking Man! Do something!" He rolled over. "Let 'em talk, he isn't hurting anything." Scully ran back to the kitchen, where she could see them, and pulled out her weapon.

"So you essentially want me to abandon my friends and colleagues, the causes I've worked so hard for, for the last eight years, and join you in your, your godless and soulless endeavors, which will no doubt wreak havoc on humankind?"

"The rewards will be very great, Fox." Mulder, despite himself, was beginning to be lulled, just a little, by the man's soft and melodic voice, the cadenced speech, the promises of riches greater than Croesus', and an endless vista of power, influence, access; the ability to live one's life the way one chose, with nothing getting in one's way, ever again.

"You can come live with me," the man was saying. "I have a large house and many other properties. There are many attractive amenities. Alex is there. I will share him with you. Now what do you say?"

Mulder's mouth fell open. "I say," he began with difficulty, "I say, all ri--"

Just then they both became aware of the approach of a young woman in a long white dress and blue shawl that seemed, even in the bright moonlight, to shine with their own light. She was singing, "Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me, I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see," and her voice was impossibly beautiful, like the most talented opera singer's. She stopped by the two men. "A cold night, to be standing outside," she said gravely.

She put her hand on Mulder's cheek. "Fox, you are cold. You had better go inside, and Charles," she said, placing a hand on the Smoking Man's shoulder, " you must go home. Your lover awaits!" Without a word the two men obeyed her, Mulder returning to his flat in a kind of daze, an altered state, and the CSM getting behind the wheel of his Mercedes and driving off. The young woman continued on her way, singing "Amazing Grace" until she and her wildly lovely rendition simply faded off into nothing.

Scully, watching from her kitchen window, saw the whole thing. She shoved her gun back in its drawer and shivered a bit. She thought she knew what she'd seen, and it would have been almost beyond belief had she not experienced the events of the Santa Cruz case.

"Dave," she said urgently, sliding into bed with him, "I saw St. Sharon, and she broke Mulder and the Smoking Man up and they both went back to bed!"

"That's nice, dear," he said drowsily. "Snuggle."

************************************************************************

The man had no recollection of driving home at 3 AM, and suddenly found himself in his own driveway, Bill Runningwater holding the door open for him. "Someone's waiting for you," he said. Krycek was sitting on the sectional, not wearing much, and at his master's approach he stood up, spreading his arms wide. "Come to bed," he said, "and come...and come."

He embraced Krycek, buried his face in his hair, fragrant from the herbal shampoo he liked, slipped his hands under Krycek's thick white terry robe, ran his hands over the boy's beautiful body, smelled his intoxicating musky/sweet/clean scent, and threw off the robe, exulting in his glorious nakedness. "Come and play with me," Krycek said, and led the way to the bedroom.

************************************************************************

"I know what I saw," said Scully, sitting at the kitchen table, nursing her espresso.

"And what was it again?" asked White, yawning. "Thanks for making the coffee so strong, Dana!"

"I saw Mulder and the Smoking Man talking on the sidewalk, and they were looking VERY CHUMMY, Dave, and then I saw this girl come walking up the sidewalk singing Amazing Grace, I had the window cracked and I could tell, then she went up to them, touched them, said something to them and they immediately went their separate ways. She was wearing a long white dress and a blue shawl, she seemed to shine from within, and she looked exactly like Sharon, St. Sharon to be exact."

"Do you really believe in all that religious crap?" asked White.

"It isn't crap to me, I'm a Catholic, and we believe saints and angels appear to people from time to time. And after the events of the Santa Cruz case, when supernatural occurrences were happening on a daily basis, I'd think you'd have a bit of an open mind about it."

"Maybe it was just some chick who happened along and flirted with the old man, and he went off with her, or something."

Scully snorted, sipped some espresso. "Dave, that's really lame. For one thing, I saw him get into his car alone. For another thing, she went off down the street by herself, then just faded away. For a third thing, he's gay."

"He didn't used to be," observed White.

"Well, he's what I would call, and don't laugh, 'Krycek-gay'. Like Mulder, whoops, sorry, didn't mean to remind you! Someone who is so smitten by Krycek, and there seem to be quite a few people like that, that they turn gay. For him. Just for him. But be that as it may, he is gay for all practical purposes."

"I don't want to argue with you Scully, especially first thing in the morning. I suppose it could have been your St. Sharon. She had supernatural powers while she was living, if she's a saint or angel or something she must have much greater powers now."

She nodded. "Exactly. I'm still going to ask Mulder for his account."

Mulder knocked on the door just then. "Scully? Hi, guys, I had the weirdest dream last night. I dreamed," he said, sitting down and accepting a cup of coffee, "that the Smoking Man visited me and tried to convince me to join his evil empire, can you believe that! And then a girl singing "Amazing Grace" came up and told us both to go back to bed! But the incredible part was that I woke up fully-dressed, pants, sweater, jacket. Now how do you explain that?"

Scully looked at him sidelong. "It really happened, Mulder. I was watching out my kitchen window, and the window was cracked so I heard the singing. You were really out there talking to your father, and the girl was St. Sharon."

"Oh my God!" said Mulder. "What possessed me to give him the time of day? And Sharon? Sharon back from the dead?"

"In a sense," Scully said. "In the larger sense. As for the Smoking Man, he can be very persuasive; have you ever listened, really listened, to the way he talks? Oh, OH."

"What?" asked White.

"I thought of something! We need to know when the chips go into production!"

"Don't jump the gun, Dana," said White mildly. "They're probably months off from that, at least. There's not a fab in the land that could reproduce the microscopic etching on that chip."

"OK," she said, "I just got this goose-walking-over-my-grave feeling. Could Krycek find out for us?"

"He won't tell us," said Mulder. "Not if it's going to harm his precious Old Man."

At that moment there was a knock at the door and Jones, the three Lone Gunmen, and Johansen came in. "I haven't made breakfast yet," Scully called. "I thought blueberry waffles, if that sounds good." There were numerous noises of enthusiastic assent. "'K," she said, "does everyone like whipped cream on theirs? 'K."

"Amanda," Scully asked, mixing waffle batter, "do you have any idea of the manufacturing schedule for the microprocessors?"

"Unfortunately, I don't. He keeps information back from everyone, so that no one but he has the whole picture."

"Sneaky bastard," said White, drinking cappuccino. "Anyway, they can't possibly have gone into manufacture yet. It's just impossible, physically impossible."

"Well, you do have a degree in physics," Scully said, worried, "so I guess you know what you're talking about. Gunmen, guys, what do you think?"

"Well," said Byers, "I'd have to agree with White. Our fabs don't have the capability to produce these in any kind of mass output. And won't ever, as far as I know."

Langly and Frohike nodded assent.

"Amanda, I understand the field agents came to your apartment last night and guarded you. That's probably the only reason the Smoking Man didn't kill you. Where are they now?" Mulder asked. 

She shrugged. "Sitting upstairs in my apartment, why?"

"Get them down here now!" he said. "You're not taking this seriously enough! He can and will pick you off at an unguarded moment."

Reluctantly, she rose to call them down. They were no-nonsense types, Ed Bekins and John O'Farrell, but they were happy to be invited into the warm kitchen with the promise of homemade blueberry waffles on the way. There were introductions all around and Mulder, shaking his head, made a call in the other room. "A.D. Skinner? This is Mulder."

"Agent Mulder, how are things going? I assigned field agents to guard Amanda Jones. How's that working out?"

"Well, she's still alive. But look, A.D., Dear Old Dad paid me a visit last night and I guess he wasn't in a killing mood, but he will be again soon and he'll target her. A.D., this guy is just beyond the pale! He's worse, far worse than I ever remember him being before!"

"Agent Mulder, this is the same man who killed the Kennedys and Martin Luther King. Have you forgotten that? Expect the leopard to change his spots? And no, he's no worse. How can a person be worse than that?"

"A.D., he nearly got me to go over to his side and live in his house last night! Can you believe that?"

"Agent Mulder, I'll believe ANYTHING that man does. I always have, and I always will."

"Then you'll believe that it's hopeless for Amanda Jones. He will wait until she's in a vulnerable place far from help, and he will hunt her down and he will kill her. And meanwhile, she'll endanger all of us."

"You know, I don't want to believe it's hopeless, and no, I'll have to disagree with you on the endangerment part. If you mean from a stray bullet, the man has superb aim. If you mean from his killing instinct generalizing to you, well, if he'd wanted to kill any of you, he would have already done so. Long ago. He loves you, he likes Agent Scully; he doesn't know White or Johansen enough to have formed any particular antipathy; presumably, he might have any or all of you eliminated to protect himself if you got too close to the truth; but he never did that before; why should he do it now?"

"Because, A.D., there's more at stake now. A lot more. And very little keeping us from the truth, because we've got the Gunmen, and this is right up their alley."

Skinner sighed. "I don't know what to tell you. You'll just have to take it on faith, but for two things: keep Amanda guarded, at least at first, and keep the Gunmen out of his face. Does he know about them at all?"

"He must know, from the Krycek Ratboy days. But I don't think he knows they're involved now. And speaking of Krycek, he's Ratboy Redux. We have to be careful what we say around him because it all gets back to the Smoking Man. All of it."

"Such as that ill-advised plot to kill the man? You know, I've been telling you for a long time, Krycek is trouble, and he'll continue to be trouble as long as you associate with him."

"Yeah, well, now the Old Man sends him around, deliberately, to spy on us. And he knows when Alex is lying...threatens to beat it out of him, withhold his drugs, whatever. So he gets the information, one way or another."

"Well, for Christ's sake when he comes around don't make goo-goo eyes at him and then do the nasty on the living room floor! Send him back home!"

"His home is with us."

"Like hell it is!" said Skinner. "His home, for good or for ill, is with the man on the hill! Sure, I pity him, but Agent Mulder, he was a free agent when he signed up. He made his bed, now he and Spender need to lie in it...Sorry, Mulder! But that's the reality of the situation!"

"Fuck!" Mulder swore.

"That's what you need to do a little less of. Attend to the business at hand. You said yourself that it's very touch-and-go."

"Crap!" said Mulder. "He made Alex marry him yesterday."

It could have been laughter coming from the other end. "That's one of those California customs, I guess. Gay marriages!"

"Don't knock 'em," said Mulder, aggrieved. "Alex and I were married three times already, then this asshole gets to come in and wipe everything out!"

"Well, look," said Skinner, frankly laughing now, "I am NOT getting into the middle of this Oedipal triangle! I would say, just duke it out, but this isn't the playground. Speaking of duking it out, you decked Agent Johansen for molesting the chaste and inviolable Krycek, and we can't have that kind of behavior, Agent Mulder. Krycek is his own man. He sleeps with whom he wants to sleep with, and you can't change that by hitting people, by crying or by wishing it weren't so. Now, I don't mean to have been so hard on you, but these are hard times, calling for hard decisions by tough people."

"All right," sighed Mulder. "I'll go back to my corner and play with my Lincoln Logs all the while ignoring the fact that the bully in the other corner has stolen my $500,000 racecar. I didn't want it anyway. It was too fun, and too pretty and too fast."

************************************************************************

Bill Runningwater served Eggs Benedict and Mimosas for breakfast. Bob ate at one end of the table, Bill at the other and in between sitting side-by-side and intertwined, sat the newlyweds. The Old Man fed the young one, who'd just been given a shot and who was feeling pretty damned mellow. By the time he'd had his third Mimosa he was giggling like a schoolgirl. Asked whether he'd like another Mimosa, the Boss man refused, saying he'd rather have a white Russian, and kissed Krycek, who giggled some more. "You're mine now, Alex, forever!" the man said, in joy and wonder. "I just hope...I hope I pull out of this one OK," he said. "If I don't, you'll be well provided-for. I love you, Alexei!" he said, hugging Krycek. 

Krycek looked at him, seeming to falter, perhaps because he was so loaded. "I...I love you too," he said, hugging him back, kissing him. There was a flash, then another. Bill had just taken two more pictures. "For the album," he said. "Nice to see you two getting along!"

"Hey, we get along," said Krycek. "Most of the time."

"Except when you don't," said Runningwater, "and when you don't, the whole house is in an uproar for days!"

Bob had been quietly eating Eggs Benedict and sipping a drink while they were talking. "What do you think, Bob?" asked the CSM.

"What do I think about what?" asked Bob. "I think you guys are nice, and I think this is a very good breakfast, Bill."

The Smoking Man laughed briefly, lit a cigarette. "You are a born diplomat, young man," he said, pointing his Morley at Bob. "And I've seen them come and go...How's that stable coming?"

"Well, as you can hear," Bob said. "They're at it 12 hours a day."

"That's what I'm paying them for. Alex, I've got a few meetings today. Go out and hang around the Emerson house. Don't worry about being late back here; I won't be home till later. I'm thinking about sending you in with a wire." He looked searchingly at Krycek. "Think you can stay in your clothes?"

"Of course, darling!" Krycek said, and kissed him.

"'Of course, darling'," said the CSM musingly. "Does that mean, I'll do it this one time for the purposes of the investigation; does it mean, I love you and would never be unfaithful to you again, or does it mean, of course not, you old fool?"

Krycek grinned. "I do love you," he said, "you know that's true. I don't love you exclusively, although, yes, I can stay in my clothes for the purpose of this mission," he said, waiting for the blow which never came.

The man sighed. "And therein lies the wrinkle. The non-exclusivity. Remember, we're married, Alexei. Anyway, I'll put the wire on you and you gather as much information as you can. Try to find, Alex, the source of the technical know-how they've got."

Krycek looked at him steadily and nodded, thinking of the Lone Gunmen.

Krycek showed up at the Emerson house, noting the unmarked white van sitting across the street. He knocked on Mulder's door, and not finding him home, tried Scully's. He was admitted to the usual throng. "Sweetheart," said Mulder, hugging him, kissing him hard, and sliding a hand down the back of his jeans, putting a finger up his ass. Krycek groaned and all eyes were suddenly on them.

"You guys," said Scully, "are gonna have to take that somewhere else!"

"OK, the foyer," said Mulder, guiding Krycek to the wall, unzipping him and taking out his cock, kneeling and taking him in his mouth, sucking the tip, the shaft, all the way to the root, playing with his balls, stroking his inner thighs, and Krycek came in toe-curling ecstasy, shooting hot come down Mulder's throat and crying, "Mulder! I love you!"

"Does he do that for you?" Mulder whispered in Krycek's small and emerald-studded ear.

Krycek was silent.

"Damn!" said Mulder, and hit the wall so hard he broke through the sheetrock.

"What'd you do?" Scully asked. "Punching holes in the wall again, Mulder?"

Krycek grinned. "It's my fault. I'll pay to have it fixed, Scully."

"All right," she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

"My turn," said Mulder, unzipping himself and taking out his huge hard cock. "Suck it, Alex! Suck it hard!"

Krycek licked and sucked Mulder's cock, licked his balls, licked the perineum and as far back as he could reach. Mulder twined his fingers in Krycek's long hair and held his head to his cock. "Oh God, that's so good, Alex!" He moaned and writhed and arched his back, moving Krycek back at the last moment and coming all over his beautiful face. He raised Krycek, looked into his eyes and kissed him, then licked the come off his face.

Scully had been watching the last few minutes and she was so turned on she grabbed White and pointed him in the direction of the bedroom. "Did you see what they did?" she asked. "Can you do that with me?"

Amanda Jones, sitting doing a needlework project with Ed Bekins and John O'Farrell on either side of her, thought she'd wandered into a carnival freakshow. Alex Krycek evidently didn't regard sex as something private, shared with a lover in a bedroom; he had his all over the place, and with more than one person, too. What a slut, she concluded.

The people in the van were treated to a variety of moans, groans, screams and "suck me's"; oh boy, that was going to go over well with the Old Man; and where was the information they needed?

The door opened and the Lone Gunmen trooped in, brushing past Mulder and Krycek in the foyer with friendly greetings. Krycek, seeing them, turned white. "We've found out something about the chip," Frohike began. "There are indeed magnets controlling the flow of the atoms in the acceleration chamber. The magnets degrade, however, thirty seconds after the computer is turned on, rendering the setup null and void. That's why only one person was affected."

"Wow," said Mulder, pulling his sunflower seeds out of a pocket and chewing one. "That's interesting, guys! Are you aware there's a spy in the room?"

"Oh," said Byers, glancing at Krycek, "This isn't sensitive information."

"The hell it isn't," said Mulder.

Krycek turned away, pale, feeling ill, hurting in a great ache, a flaring sore that burned the room to ash in a sweeping conflagration. He'd just signed the death sentences for the Lone Gunmen. "I have to leave," he said suddenly. "I'm missing a dose of my medication," he explained.

He made it to his car before he began to weep, and he cried all the way back home. The white van followed him, but its occupants stayed inside after it had parked.

"What's the matter?" asked Bill Runningwater.

"This," said Krycek, pulling the wire out from under his shirt. "I've exposed the Lone Gunmen. They're gonna die! And they're so harmless! They're really nice people!"

"Oh, dear," said Runningwater. "I was afraid something like this would happen. Don't cry, Alexei. What will be, will be. I'll say a prayer for you and for them. I think they'll be all right."

"How?" cried Krycek. "Oh, God, I've gone and done it! I'm responsible for the murders of those three people!"

"Alexei, are you behind in your schedule?"

"Yeah, but so? I shoot up, I use my heroin, is that going to make this go away?"

"Go do it anyway."

"You sound like a pusher, like him, the great assassin!"

"Alexei, would you like some Valium?"

Krycek walked into the bedroom and located three syringes, meant to last him all day. He tied himself off and recklessly injected the contents of all three. He was immediately high as a kite and rather boneless, and he oozed into the kitchen.

"Feel better?" asked the Navajo. "I'm making bread pudding; I know you like that."

"I OD'd," Krycek said flatly. "I took three doses at once."

Runningwater looked at him, felt his wrist. "You're on your feet and your pulse is strong. You'll be OK. Were you trying to kill yourself, Alexei?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I wanted to make it all go away."

The Indian nodded. "I understand, maybe better than you know. But suicide isn't the answer. You've already tried twice, and it didn't work, did it?"

"No," said Krycek. "I thought this time maybe it would. I must have a high tolerance to the stuff."

"Alex, wherever you go, you are surrounded by people who admire you, who love you. Can't you see that, see how important that is? Didn't you just have an encounter with the delectable Fox Mulder? He loves you so much. So does the Old Man, although it's harder to see."

"I'm loved by the Devil? That's supposed to make me happy?"

Bill sighed. "You are exaggerating, he is not the Devil and you know that. He is a very complex and unusual person, the brightest and the most interesting you and I will ever know."

"Yeah, yeah," said Krycek miserably. "And he's gonna kill the Lone Gunmen."

************************************************************************

Lunch was catered in, mostly sandwiches and the like. "I sent Ratboy in with a wire today," the CSM said, lighting a cigarette. "Here's the tape," he said, tossing it carelessly in front of him. "There is evidence that they have outside counsel regarding the technological discoveries they've made. Does anyone want to hear it?"

"I think it is not a bad idea," said the First Elder.

The Smoking man inserted it into the player, winding it past the groans, and damn Alex anyway, he was in deep shit for that, and stopped it at the point when the Lone Gunmen entered the room. They listened raptly.

"I know who these fellows are; Alex doesn't have to tell me," said the Smoking Man, leaning back in his chair. "They've worked with Mulder for a long time."

"What should we do about them?" the Second Elder asked.

"What, indeed?" asked the CSM, exhaling smoke. "I believe that, in their way, they are more dangerous to us than all the official FBI agents combined. They will need to be terminated, gentlemen."

"And you elect yourself to do it, of course!" snorted the Well-Manicured Man, playing with his salad.

"Well, who else?" asked the CSM, stubbing out his cigarette.

"Now what do you plan to do about the Ebony problem?" asked the Second Elder, chewing and swallowing the last of his turkey sandwich.

"I'm waiting for a clear shot," said the CSM. "She's got bodyguards on her at all times, and she never leaves the house. She knew very little of the technological aspects of the situation, anyway; even less so our production schedules; she is unlikely to ruin us."

"And so you have just decided to let her go?" asked the WMM.

"No, not precisely. She won't get away. She doesn't represent the danger these three Lone Gunmen do, though, and so I am not alarmed."

"And suppose we are?" asked the First Elder.

"Surely you're not!" said the Smoking Man, turning to him. "I'm telling you she is not dangerous! How often have I been wrong?" he cried.

"Well, there was that time in 19-" the wag began, and the CSM swung round and silenced him with a look.

The WMM cleared his throat. "Good God, man, this is supposed to be a democracy here! Does no one get a say but you?"

"You are free to state your opinions," the CSM said coldly. "Gentlemen, do you wish this project to proceed with all possible speed and expedience, or would you prefer to waste precious time arguing?"

There was some grumbling but no overtly voiced objections. "All right," he began, "Manufacturing began today. By the first of the month we'll have 5,000 units which will then be installed in as many PCs. I've sketched together some distribution plans, photocopies of which I'm passing around to you. I'll be visiting some distributors and since they represent sites worldwide, this may require visits to some of these sites. If you'd like to volunteer for anything, now is the time to speak up."

"I'll visit China, if it's necessary to go there," an elderly man said. "I've accompanied ambassadors there, and I'm familiar with the economic setup."

"All right, thank you," said the CSM, scribbling something on his Palm Pilot. "Anyone else? It's OK, you can mull it over and if you decide anything, just let me know." He replaced the cover on his Palm Pilot, leaned back and lit a cigarette. "I meet with the aliens tonight to ask them about the implants, and also to apprise them of our progress. My hope is that they will be pleased."

"When do you predict the disintegration of the world's governments and economic infrastructures?" asked the First Elder slowly.

The Smoking Man took a drag on his Morley, looked at him. "No man knows the hour," he said softly.

************************************************************************

"Hey, Dave," Scully said thoughtfully, licking banana nut bread batter off a wooden spoon, "do you know something?"

"Probably not," he said rather tiredly.

"The whole time Krycek was here, there was this, oh, nondescript white van out front, and the minute, the second he left, the van left."

White stood up suddenly. "Really? Did it leave in the same direction?"

"It did," said Scully. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"He wore a wire," he said softly, "the bastard wore a wire. He's not coming back into this house ever again!"

"I can't believe it either," Scully said, "it's really a serious betrayal. And oh, my God, what the Smoking Man must have learned when the Gunmen chattered on and on! Oh, no, Dave! He'll be targeting them because they're the techies! Oh, no!" and doubly pregnant little Scully burst into tears.

White enfolded her in his arms, put his face in her soft hair and stroked her back. "We're making a lot of assumptions, here, you know," he said. "I kind of jumped to conclusions with the van thing. We don't KNOW he wore a wire. And if he did, well, why would the Smoking Man choose to target any particular person?" 

"Because they have the knowledge! They're our technical advisors!" said Scully bitterly. "And I think it's safe to assume he did wear a wire. We know he works for the Smoking Man now. It wouldn't have taken too much more suggestion and/or coercion to get him to bring a microphone into our midst, oh, Alex, how could you?"

She gently disengaged herself from White's embrace and ran over to Mulder's house and thence up to Johansen's, Jones' and lastly out back to the Lone Gunmen themselves. Mulder trembled and cried at the betrayal; Johansen shook his head with a sardonic look on his Nureyev-gorgeous face; Jones just looked; and the Gunmen, who were told most gradually and gently, were very troubled.

Person by person, they slowly assembled in the living room of the Scully/White flat. "This is very grievous news," said Johansen, "we didn't know he'd gone over to the man's side completely. I'll beat the shit out of the little bastard if I ever see him again."

"You were happy enough to suck him off," said Mulder.

"That was before. This is after. This is a betrayal of a very great magnitude. This could ruin us. Probably will, and the whole human race, Mulder, will go down in flames because Alex Krycek wore a wire, ONCE."

Mulder was silenced. It was true. Oh, Alex, how could you?

The Gunmen stirred. "It's our fault," offered Byers. "We were told not to trust him, not to discuss anything of a potentially sensitive nature in front of him."

"I forgot," said Frohike in a small voice. "I just forgot. I was so caught up in our little discovery."

"We're sorry," said Langly, and for once he wasn't working on a sucker.

"Hey," said Scully, "look, you guys have nothing to apologize about! You're the victims here! And we'll do whatever we can to protect you. I have a call in to Skinner to tell him we're calling in more field agents. You guys'll have to consolidate in one flat; that'll make the job of protecting you that much easier. You three," she said earnestly, "are worth much more than your weight in gold to us! You have the knowledge we lack. We depend on you for so much. Our only gains are made through you. Please don't feel you need to apologize for anything. And by the way," she said, fixing Amanda Jones with a look, "where are Bekins and O'Farrell?"

Amanda shrugged. "Stepped out to get a snack or something."

Scully shook her head. "Not good. Not good at all. Their place is by your side. They stick to you like burrs. What the fuck could they be up to?" Her fevered imagination took off like a fighter jet straight up into the stratosphere of doubt and suspicion. "They went to him, they went to his people," she said quietly.

"No!" exclaimed Mulder. "That's impossible!"

"Is it?" Scully asked. "When they get back, let's all question them. Hard."

"You're beginning to sound like me, Scully. Paranoid," Mulder said.

"Think so? Look, I see them now," she said, pulling the kitchen curtain aside to peer out of the window. They knocked and were admitted.

"Where'd you guys go?" asked White.

"Ice cream. See?" O'Farrell said easily, showing them his empty paper cup and paddle, before throwing them away.

"You're not supposed to leave Ms. Jones alone for a minute," Scully said severely.

Bekins nodded. "We did make a professional error, and we do apologize."

Scully leaned forward and sniffed him. "You smell like smoke," she said accusingly.

He shrugged. "There was a smoker in line with us."

"God, Scully," said Mulder. "Other people do smoke, you know. Even Sharon smoked."

"Oh, I see," said Bekins. "You think we met with the Smoking Man, don't you? That's patently ridiculous, Agent Scully," he said wearily.

"I do, and now more than ever," she said.

"Chill, Scully," said Mulder. "Take a Valium or something."

"Well, this is not going to get resolved right now," said White. "Bekins and O'Farrell, carry on guarding the person of Ms. Jones, and do not leave your job, until further notice."

************************************************************************

"I think," said Alex Krycek, "that the Old Man is gonna beat the crap out of me for the extraneous stuff on the tape."

"What extraneous stuff?" asked Bill Runningwater.

"The first, oh, fifteen, twenty minutes of sounds accompanying making love with Mulder."

Runningwater rolled his eyes. "You had to go and do it, didn't you?"

"Yeah, well. And it's recorded, and I'm in deep shit. I think I'll ask for extra stuff for the pain. Wonder just how much pain he'll inflict."

"Instead of mind-fucking yourself, go and ride your horses with Bob."

"I'm too fucked-up."

"No, you're not. Now get out there!"

Krycek wandered out the back door. Bob was feeding the horses fragrant alfalfa hay. "Hey, Bob!" Krycek called. "Let me show you some advanced dressage moves!"

Bob paused in what he was doing to watch Krycek mount Guardian with no saddle, bridle or even halter, just a fistful of mane. "Look!" Krycek called. He rode the stallion around the paddock at each gait, executed flying changes of lead, backed, stopped Western-style from a dead run, performed the piaffe and the passage, a levade, even a capriole, all, miraculously, just with leg signals.

"My God," breathed Bob, "that's Spanish Riding School stuff! Lipizzan stuff! It's the best riding in the world!"

"Thank you!" Krycek said, flushed and happy. "Most of it I learned on my own, and I trained most of the horses on the ranch in dressage myself."

"That's almost impossible," Bob said. "I knew you were a terrific rider, Alex, but this takes the cake. Does the Old Man know how well you ride and train?" 

Krycek nodded. "He does. That's why he bought all these fine blooded animals for me, why he's building the stable, and so on."

Bob nodded. "Want to go for a ride?"

"Sure, I'll take Guardian."

"Just like that? Naked?"

"Just like this. I can jump like this, too. C'mon!"

They rode up Page Mill Road, past Foothills Park to the summit, and across a ridge to Skyline Boulevard. "Always, Skyline," said Bob thoughtfully.

"It's at the crest of the world. I stand on Skyline, and I can hear the music of the spheres. I can see the hills, green and golden, slope down to the blue foaming ocean on one side, wild and free, the giver of life, the goddess-creator of the energy of life; the quiet, tame Bay on the other, the bearer of commerce, the supporter of transport undreamed of till a generation of yesteryear embraced the machine. I hear distantly the toils of the world beneath me, shrouded in fog, in the mists of desire, in the midst of the tears of angels who wish something more."

"You are just full of surprises, Alex!" Bob exclaimed. 

Krycek nodded.

They rode down Skyline to 84, Woodside/La Honda Road, and stopped at Apple Jack's, a colorful biker bar. Bob, who'd brought an extra halter, used it to tie Guardian to a pole. Krycek caused his usual sensation when he entered the bar. One obvious barfly, a 40-ish blonde, attractive in a blowzy way, slithered over to them and started conversation. "I'm Sarah," she said, and you two VERY handsome men are?"

"Alex."

"Bob."

"Well, Alex and Bob, which one of you needs a girlfriend?"

A man entered the bar, dressed in jeans and cowboy boots. "Those your horses?" he asked. "I've got to tell you, the Thoroughbred stallion is the finest piece of horseflesh I've ever seen. Are you riding him bareback, with no bridle?"

Krycek nodded.

"Well, you have my admiration. I didn't think it was possible. Hey, Sarah, c'mon, I'll buy you a drink!"

Krycek had a Sunrise and Bob had a Henry Weinhard. They had more drinks and suddenly Krycek looked at his watch. "We'd better get back!" he said, so they paid for the drinks and mounted their horses.

The Old Man was waiting for them outside, smoking. "Get in the house, Alexei," he said casually. Krycek went in and with a big sigh, seated himself on the loveseat.

"Get up, Alex," the man said, "and come over here. Didn't keep your clothes on, except maybe your shirt, did you?" he asked. "And what was the thing you did that Scully wanted to imitate?"

"I-" Krycek began and was struck resoundingly, a hard smack that knocked him off balance.

"What did you do? Tell me." the man said.

"Please, have mercy!" Krycek said.

"I'm not known for being merciful," and he was slapped again. "What did you do?"

"He came on my face and licked it off," said Krycek miserably.

Another slap. "I'll tell you what," the man said, "I'll come on your face, and YOU lick it off!" Slap. Then a solid punch that knocked Krycek to the floor and bloodied his nose.

"Bill!" called Krycek. "Can't you help me out?" Runningwater stood in the kitchen, his head bowed in prayer, incommunicado.

The Smoking Man hauled Krycek up by his collar and shook him. It dimly occurred to Krycek that the guy was stronger than he was. "Bitch," he said, "slut!" He slapped Krycek one more time before he sagged, losing consciousness.

When he came to he was in bed and the Old Man and Runningwater were applying ice packs to his face. "What happened?" he asked.

They looked at each other. "You may have a concussion," Bill said. "You'll be OK."

"Didn't I have one in Tahiti?" Krycek asked sleepily. "Are you gonna call a doctor?"

"Probably not," said the Smoking Man. "Bill has a great deal of medical knowledge and can take care of you just fine."

"Oh," said Krycek.

"Does your head hurt a great deal?" asked Runningwater.

"No, it's OK. Just the places on my face that were hit." He looked at the Old Man. "Do you have to always hit me like that?

"I was angry. I was jealous. It's what I do," he said without apology, but bent and kissed Krycek. "I love you, Alex, very much, if you can believe it. Look what I've got! Tickets to the San Francisco Opera, Aida, tomorrow night."

"Thank you," said Krycek, closing his eyes. "I've always liked Aida."

"Alex, what I didn't do was thank you for the great job you did picking up the Lone Gunmen. Now we can target them; they're the source of all the technical information the FBI has on the case."

Krycek buried his face in the pillows. "I killed them," he said.

"Never say that, if you're not the person who actually pulls the trigger," said the Smoking Man, shaking out a Morley and lighting it. "I'm very proud of you, Alex. You're so good at what you do."

Krycek looked at him. "I murdered those poor, defenseless nerds. I did it."

"Well, if you insist on looking at it that way," the man said, shrugging, "I can't stop you. You ought to be proud of yourself! You are the Ratboy; you are the best of the best."

"I deserve to die," Krycek said. "Hit me some more. Kill me."

"I don't like that talk at all, Alex. Sweetheart, you deserve to live! You're missing your shot; sit up and I'll give it to you."

Krycek obediently came to a sitting position and was shot up, and immediately began to feel better. He even smiled and hugged the Smoking Man. "I've got to go out," the man said, "but when I come back I'll pay lots of attention to you, as much as you want."

************************************************************************

The shadows of a winter's early twilight had become indistinguishable from the encroachment of the somber night when the craft came near Earth and hovered at a distance of perhaps 100 yards, awaiting the human being who walked up the grassy bank, hands shoved in the pockets of his dark trenchcoat and a preoccupied look on his face.

A beam of light deposited the alien beings on the earth. One of them approached closely to the man and took his hand in its long, knobby and incalculably strange one. "You want to know about the implants," the creature thought at the man. "Yes, are they operative? How many do you plan to place?"

"They are operative at a command from us, and at this point are experimental. No, they are not as practical as the microchips in the computer. We don't know how many we'll actually use."

"My distribution plans are in the Palm Pilot," the man thought at the alien, who held out his, or its, hand for the download. Again, the man watched, fascinated, as the letters and numbers flowed into the creature's arm.

"You have done very well," the alien "said." "Continue to do as you have been doing. We look forward to a fruitful partnership."

"Thank you." The creatures retreated and the ship, after dodging this way and that, took off over the Santa Cruz Mountains.

************************************************************************

Krycek was up, playing the piano and singing, in the den. The Smoking Man shoved him over on the piano bench, sat down and began to play a creditable left-handed accompaniment. They ran through "Tainted Love," "True," "That Joke isn't Funny Anymore," "How Soon is Now?", "Too Shy," "Shake it Up," and a whole string of other Eighties songs.

"That's fuckin' amazing!" Krycek said, after they'd finished. "I don't believe it!"

"What, that I know those songs? Twenty years ago I was a much younger man, and I could appreciate them."

"Well, yeah, and that you play," Krycek said, looked at him and kissed him.

They made love on the leather couch in the den, went to the nearest bedroom and made love in there. Krycek fell asleep, however, still worried about the Gunmen.

************************************************************************

Each of the denizens of the Emerson House had vivid dreams that night. Scully dreamed she was swimming in a large body of water against a strong current. The water was very cold, and she was chilled to her core. Then a shining figure on the shore threw her a rope, which she grasped, and was pulled to safety on the sandy beach. 

Mulder dreamed he was a knight in armor on a big white stallion, cutting his way through impossible thorn bushes with his sharp sword. Every thorn-laden branch he cut yielded new and more horrible ones. The horse was snagged on the thorns, and it screamed. He knew he went from danger into ever greater danger, as there was a man-eating dragon up ahead. He passed a tower and a princess appeared on the ramparts. She wept to see him so, and her tears cleared the thorns and quenched the dragon's fire.

White dreamed he was flying, and it was pleasant at first, but then the air around him became filled with ghosts and ghouls crying out, cackling, grasping at his arms and legs. He began to fall to earth, when a gentle hand on his back lifted him into the higher reaches of the atmosphere, where all was peaceful.

Johansen dreamed he was a participant in a beauty contest, but something was wrong: every time he passed a mirror he realized he was ugly, old, diseased and he despaired, because armed guards at every door made it impossible for him to escape. One of the contestants, a very beautiful blonde woman, turned to him, touched him and suddenly he was young and gorgeous again.

Amanda Jones dreamed she was at the house of Jebediah Smith, and she was looking for him; she found him scattered in various pieces all over the house. Every piece had its own consciousness and could "speak" to her through thought, and every communication was of terror and horror. Then a young woman whose face she could not see gathered all the pieces and made them whole, and the man stood before her, smiling.

The Lone Gunmen had an identical dream: they were gathered in a fortress which was being stormed by soldiers and gangsters, who were shooting at them. Then a lovely angel approached them and said gravely, "No bullets, no poisons, knives nor any other instruments of destruction shall touch you or anyone who lives in this fortress. You are safe. I have made it so! So shall it be!" and the soldiers and criminals melted away from them, seeming to have been removed to a great distance.

Everyone in the house awoke refreshed and with a sense of wonder.

************************************************************************

Krycek awoke at 6 in the arms of the Old Man, and although he had aches and pains from the beating he'd received, he felt as though a great and terrible burden had been lifted from him. "I didn't kill them," he said quietly. "Hm?"

"I didn't kill them," he repeated.

The man gave him an odd look. "No one said you did."

Krycek looked at him. "You didn't kill them either."

"Really, Alexei," the man said, sitting up and reaching for his cigarettes, "are you just sleepy, or have you gone mystical on me?"

"They're OK," Krycek repeated softly. He drew his knees up to his chin. "I dreamed you met with Them last night."

"I picked up my dry cleaning last night," the man said, lighting his cigarette.

"They're small, and they have big heads and long fingers."

The Smoking Man looked at him. "What, have you been reading Communion again? You ought to be careful about what you put in that head of yours, Alexei."

Krycek looked back. "My face hurts," he said.

"Well, that's my fault and I'm sorry."

"Occupational hazard," said Krycek solemnly. The man leaned over, brushed a long lock back and kissed him on the forehead. "You are so dear to me," he said. "Come join me in the shower."

"Your face is very bruised, Alexei," observed Bill Runningwater, placing plates on the table.

"I've already apologized for that," said the Smoking Man, picking up his Wall Street. "What's for breakfast?"

"It's crepes Suzette," said the Navajo, "heavy on the brandy."

"Did you flame it off? I have an early meeting."

Krycek spooned extra sauce over his crepes. "You're leaving me so soon?"

The paper was rustled slightly, and lowered. "Yes, darling. Can you think of something to do with yourself today that does not involve Fox Mulder?"

Krycek took a bite of crepe. "Who sent me in with the wire?"

The paper was lowered to the table. "Alexei," the man said, looking him in the eye, "on balance, I'm really glad you went. You may, as I have indicated, have singlehandedly saved the Project. But I don't want you hanging out with Mulder more than you have to be. I love you, you mean the world to me, and I don't want to share you with anyone else. Now, pass me the crepes, Bill."

"Bob saw this ad in the Mercury," said Krycek, "a very good Thoroughbred mare, Raffinee, who was this big stakes winner last year and the year before, but she developed a slight bowed tendon, so she's unraceable, but I think I'd like to get her and put her on Guardian, might get a good foal. Plus, I can probably reclaim her as a saddle horse."

"Do whatever you like, Alex," the Smoking Man said, in between bites. "If it makes you happy, if makes me happy; I don't care about the cost. Buy her or several mares; Guardian ought to have a chance at stud."

"Why is he so mean to me one minute, so sweet the next?" wondered Krycek, when the Old Man left. 

Runningwater shook his head. "You heard him. You're his, Alexei. He doesn't want you messing around with other men. Or women, I'd imagine, but you don't seem to be showing any inclination in that direction."

"I had a dream," said Krycek suddenly. "I dreamed that...an angel came to me and told me that it was all right with the Gunmen, that she would protect them. Do you believe in angels, in divine protection, Bill?"

"I believe there may be such things," the Indian said cautiously. "What did she look like?"

"She had long blonde hair...she was very beautiful."

"Know anyone who looks like that? Who looked like that?" asked Runningwater casually.

Krycek bit the tip of one finger, thinking. "Sharon!" he said. "Do you think it was her?"

"It may have been. I believe that many guardian angels are actually the dear departed."

"The Catholics made her a saint."

"And so she is," said Bill. "Do you want the rest of these crepes? The Old Man didn't have much of an appetite."

At 6:45 Mulder walked in the door of the Scully household. She opened the door to see him still in his PJ's and robe. "Scully, can I come in? I just had this really weird dream."

"You too?" she asked, looking at him strangely. "Come in. Coffee's on. Dave's even up!"

Mulder settled himself with his cup of black, lots-of-sugar coffee and glanced at Scully, who was busying herself making omelettes. "I predict we'll soon have a few more visitors," she said. Indeed, there was another knock at the door and the Lone Gunmen streamed in. 

"Dream Meister," said Langly, pointing a sucker at Mulder, "you're a psychologist."

"All three of us had exactly the same dream," said Byers, "which is, of course, impossible."

"It was weird," said Frohike.

Scully appeared in the doorway. "Come in, make yourselves comfortable! I'll get your coffee. How do you like your omelettes?"

"The food kind of way," said Frohike. 

Soon there came another knock at the door. "Mulder, get that again...thanks!" It was Brian Johansen, who shot a surly look at Mulder. 

"Hey, get over it!" said that party. "I'm the one who should be pissed!"

"Oh, yeah? Whose little boyfriend was wired?"

"BOYS," said Scully severely, mixing eggs and milk. "Try to get along."

The doorbell sounded and Amanda Jones was admitted, sans bodyguards. "Where are Bekins and O'Farrell?" called Scully.

The younger woman shrugged. "I dunno, said they were going out."

"What, for another ice cream? DAVE!" she shouted. "David, call Skinner right now! Bekins and O'Farrell are missing."

"Hey," said Amanda, "they just left half an hour ago."

"Did they say where they were going?" White asked, putting in his reluctant early-morning appearance, still rubbing sleepy eyes.

"No, they didn't," she admitted.

"Why'd they have to leave together, huh?" asked Scully. "Dave, call Skinner. We're taking them off the case and I'm having them arrested if I can find them!"

"What is all this about?" Ms. Jones asked. "You think they're working for the Smoking Man?"

"I KNOW they're working for the Smoking Man," said Scully, tightly. "Dave, flip those eggs, please...thank you!...Yes, my bet is they're both spilling the beans, right this minute!"

"What more is there to spill, after the recording his people undoubtedly made from the wire?" she asked reasonably.

"Anything else. Anything you, I or anyone else has said to them, or in their presence. This omelette's ready," she said, sliding it out of the pan. "Ham and cheese omelette, up for grabs!" she called.

"I'll take it," Johansen said.

"A.D. Skinner? This is Agent David White...Yes...We've got a situation here. Two of 'em. First of all, your friend and mine, Alex Krycek, wore a wire over here, and we fear the worst. We know he was talking to the Lone Gunmen, and we think they may be targeted."

"I'd say that was a bit of a situation, yes," Skinner said mildly. "Haven't I been telling you folks to be very, very wary of Krycek? Absolutely bar the door if he shows up again. He is persona non grata among any of you, from this moment forward. His allegiance is to Spender. It always has been. I'll put guards on the Gunmen right away...Kim! Requisition six bodyguards, a house in Palo Alto...thanks! So what's the other situation?"

"Bekins and O'Farrell appear to be working for Spender also."

"The agents guarding Ms. Jones? Hey, I checked them out myself! What's going on here?"

"We don't know for sure what they're up to, but they disappear and then come back smiling and apologizing."

"Can you hear that ripping noise? That's me, tearing what little I have left of my hair out by the roots."

"Sorry to bother you with this stuff sir, but someone had to."

"Is Agent Mulder there?"

"Yes, I'll get him. Mulder, A.D. Skinner wants to talk to you."

"Hey, Boss," Mulder said amiably. "I'll take that Denver omelette, Scully...thank you! What's up?"

"Hey, I just heard about the wire! Neat work, Mulder! I told you to stay the hell away from him!"

"You're yelling. I'm trying to enjoy my breakfast," said Mulder, aggrieved.

"Mulder, you're the plan-ops lead here, and I'm counting on you to take charge, and yet you did something yesterday to really fuck things up."

"What'd I do?"

"You consorted with that little boyfriend of yours and he brought a lot of sensitive information to HIS boyfriend."

"Hey," said Mulder. "Not my fault. Probably not his, either. Blame the ol' man."

"Look, Mulder. It actually doesn't even matter whose fault it was or wasn't. The point is that something really bad happened, and it was on your watch, and don't let it happen again! You can't have anything to do with him from this point onward!"

Mulder chewed and swallowed omelette, chased it with black coffee. "All right," he said, "I get the point! Wanna chew me out some more, or should I hand you back to White?"

"Agent Scully, please."

"Scully," she said, juggling a pan and a handful of cheese.

"Agent Scully, I'm giving you back the leadership position, at least for now, until Agent Mulder redeems himself. I want you to call a meeting, or another one, to discuss the Krycek issue; the defecting-agent issue, and any others that seem meaningful to you. Regarding Bekins and O'Farrell: I want you to arrest them when they show up, if they do. Regarding Krycek: Don't talk to him; don't invite him over; don't let him in and make sure Mulder doesn't either! Now, I'm trusting you to handle this correctly. Don't screw it up!"

"I won't, Sir," she said, flipping the omelette. "You can trust me."

She cooked a few more egg dishes, served them up and then stood in the doorway to the living room. "OK, listen up, people! I'm calling a summit meeting, starting now! All right," she said, "first item of business: where are Bekins and O'Farrell? Amanda?"

"I really don't know," Ms. Jones shrugged. "I'm just as happy to not have them hanging on my ass the whole time. My flat's pretty small."

"They told you nothing this morning?"

"Beyond the fact that they were 'going out for a while', they told me nothing."

"What about the other time they were missing?"

"Gone out for ice cream. Is this twenty questions or something?"

"Or something," said Scully, dropping into a chair. "So start telling me the truth, huh?"

"That IS the truth! Hey, whose side are you on?" the young woman asked, pushing back a strand of hair distractedly.

"Whose side are YOU on?" Scully asked smoothly, forking omelette.

"Hey," said Amanda Jones, "I resent the implication that I'm lying. I've told you what I know. That's it!"

"Hey, guys," Mulder said, "I see a situation developing here. What are you trying to say, Scully?"

"I'm saying," said Scully, swallowing omelette, "that not only do Bekins and O'Farrell work for the Smoking Man, this one does too."

"Oh, pish!" said Jones. "That's an insult! As if! As if I'd go back with him after seeing what he's like!"

"Unless," said Scully thoughtfully, "he got you back through intimidation, which he did do, didn't he?"

"I don't have to take this shit, and I'm leaving and I resign from your organization," said Jones, who set her plate on the coffee table and rose.

"It was just this morning that he called you, wasn't it? Wasn't it?" persisted Scully as Jones walked toward the door. The latter turned to look at her, a strange mixture of fear, resentment and resignation. She opened her mouth then closed it, shook her head and turned away.

"Nice going, Scully," said Mulder mildly. "Think you might need some Thorazine?"

"No, I'm right about her, and I'm right about the other two agents, too," she said quietly. "Listen!" she cried to the group. "Our enemy is very strong and persuasive, turns our own people against us! We have to start fighting fire with fire! Other than the people in this room, trust no one! Everyone checks for bugs, everyone checks for wires. Everyone's armed, including the Gunmen; we'll give you a crash course in shooting. Speaking of the Gunmen, they each get two guards, probably sometime later today."

Byers raised his hand. "Agent Scully? We wanted to tell you about our dream. We believe we'll be safe."

She paused, looked at him. "All right," she said, in a softer voice, "we all had unusual dreams last night. Let's talk about them now."

************************************************************************

It was certainly a nice office, Bekins and O'Farrell thought, much nicer than any they'd occupied or even seen in the FBI. There was a huge antique oak desk, a fancy sculpted Aubusson carpet, original oils of the hills of Palo Alto. Seated at the desk was a man who leaned back in his leather chair, looking at them narrowly before addressing them. "You're getting me Ebony," he said. It was a statement, not a question.

"Didn't you say you were calling her this morning?"

The man reached in a pocket for his cigarettes. "I called her," he said, "but she is very frightened and there is no telling what she'll do." He lit a cigarette and shook out the match. "It will be your job, gentlemen, to bring her to me if she fails to come on her own. And you might have to do it soon. Your absences are bound to be noticed by Scully and the crew."

Bekins ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. "Do you want us to drill her for you?"

The Smoking Man shook his head. "I think not. I want to give her a chance, see whether she'll work for me, living at that house. If she won't, then of course she is dead dog meat, and I will be happy to do the job myself."

After they left the man unlocked the conference room next door and admitted the men in the hall. "What was that about?" the Second Elder asked.

"Two of our newest operatives. FBI, actually. I'll explain in a few minutes."

He opened his briefcase, took out his Palm Pilot and his laptop, picked up the phone. "Coffee for 19; these are the specifications..." "Gentlemen," he began, "thanks to Ratboy, we now understand the 'technological connection', we know who they are, and I am going to take care of the problem."

"He wore a wire, went in there with his friends with that, betrayed them? I would never have guessed he'd do it!" said the Well-Manicured Man, shaking his head.

"I'm his friend now," said the Smoking Man. "Anyway, we now have containment of the situation."

"What, you've terminated them already?" asked the First Elder.

"No, but I will have shortly. We have two new operatives. I've borrowed them from the FBI. Not only that, but we'll probably have Ebony back shortly. If we don't, I'll take care of her too."

There was a knock on the door and the coffee arrived.

"Good God, man, you like killing, don't you?" the WMM asked, sipping his latte in its stay-hot cup.

"No, I don't," said the CSM softly. "It's just that it's frequently the most expedient way to take care of things." He stirred his coffee and lit a cigarette.

"The other matter has to do with my meeting last night. I met with the aliens, and they approved of the draft I constructed regarding the distribution schedule. I will meet with them later this week to discuss the particulars of any revisions they may have. This is day three of manufacture, and I and Dr. Walker will be checking later on in the day with VisiTek to see how they're doing. If they have not been overly sanguine in their predictions, they should have already produced several hundred units."

"Is that a sufficient quantity for a trial distribution run, I wonder?" asked the First Elder.

"It may be. But I'd prefer the trial run be in a developing nation, where mass media are haphazard. The less attention we draw to ourselves, especially at this stage of the game, the better," he said, exhaling smoke. "The sooner our final draft of the distribution plan is approved, the sooner we'll know which countries to attack."

The WMM flinched at the word "attack." "Could you use another word?"

"Which would you prefer? Assault? Subvert? Decimate? Subjugate?"

The WMM rolled his eyes. The man was so melodramatic. Must be where Mulder got it from.

************************************************************************

Bill Runningwater came in from making a drugstore run, carrying some small packages. "What're those?" Krycek asked.

"They're these," said the Navajo, placing them in front of him. "What?" Krycek asked, "more makeup? Not for me I hope."

"Yes, they're for you. The concealer, the foundation to cover your bruises, Alexei. Have you seen yourself in the mirror lately?"

"Yeah," he said reluctantly. "But who the fuck cares what I look like?"

"The Old Man, for one, and you, for another. You want to go to the opera tonight, don't you?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Yeah, but. Opening night. The cream of San Francisco society will be there. You want them to admire you, don't you?"

"Won't they be admiring Pavarotti instead?"

"You will be there, Alexei, and all will look at you, and all will admire you. You will be that gorgeous young man with the old rich one."

Krycek giggled. "All right. How do you put it on?"

"He'll put it on you, Alex, and don't give me that look. When his wife broke her arm he had to help her..."

"Sure he didn't help her into the broken arm, too?"

"Alex," he said, but he was smiling. "No, I was there when it happened. She missed a top step. I saw it, he didn't do it to her."

"That was Cassandra, huh?" he asked wonderingly. "She's floating up there now, with the aliens. Or with God, if the aliens've offed her by now."

"I think she may still be around," said Bill. "You may even meet her some day, Alex."

"My predecessor. She'd be horrified to know that her successor was a gay man!"

"You know, Cassandra was a salty little gal and I don't think it would horrify her at all."

"If you say so. I've never been to the opera, can you believe it?"

"If you're wondering what to wear, look through your clothes for your very nicest formal evening suit. Wear that one you have the red cummerbund for. He'll be dressing up too, of course."

"Are there good and bad seats? Do we have good seats?"

"Yes, and yes. He has his own private box, did you know that?"

"Oh, is that expensive?"

"Yes, horrendously so. Oh, you're going to have such fun, Alexei!"

"Yeah, hope so. Good thing I like classical music!"

"Now go outside and play, Lexy," Runningwater said. 

He went outside to talk to Bob. "We can buy that mare, Raffinee, plus any others we run across," he said. "Why is construction always so noisy?"

"It won't be for that much longer," said Bob. "They'll be finished in a couple of weeks, they said, then we'll have a beautiful new horse barn with all the amenities."

"All what amenities?"

"Didn't you look at the blueprints? No? Well," Bob said, taking Krycek's arm, "over there, see, will be the storage area for the hay. Off the ground, out of the reach of rats. Each stall will have hot and cold running water, light, heat and air conditioning, electrical outlets; the floors will be padded with thick rubber pads. There's a changing room and even a full bath WITH Jacuzzi, so that the horseman can relax after a long ride."

"Wow. Shit! I had no idea!"

"Yeah," said Bob, "that old guy really loves you, Alex."

"Mulder really loves me," said Krycek.

"Scuttlebutt is that you spied on them and wore a microphone, or something, and gathered all this evidence."

"It's a transmitter, and I did."

"And now, Mulder still really loves you?"

Krycek hung his head.

"But other people still love you, Alex. Hell, I do."

"The fuck you do!"

"Of course I do," said Bob, shading his eyes against the sun. "Everyone in his right mind loves you. Except the people you spy on," he pointed out.

Krycek kicked a pebble.

"Alex!" called Bill Runningwater, from the house. "Phone!"

He ran back inside, hoping against hope.

"Alex?"

"Oh, Mulder, thank God it's you! You must hate me! I hate myself!"

"No, Alex, I still love you more than life. But you can't be seen here. Can we meet somewhere?"

"Sure, anywhere, how about a motel room?"

"Want to?" Mulder asked. "Kind of kinky, huh?"

"AHEM," said Bill Runningwater. Krycek held the phone against his chest and scowled at him. 

"Um, Mulder? Maybe not today because the Old Man is taking me to the opera tonight and probably wants to take me someplace fancy for dinner, and all that... and he won't be far away. He'll be back soon, and I should be here for him."

"Geez!" said Mulder. "Just a nooner?"

"No nooners, I don't need to smell like sex when he gets back, and I don't need to be all damp out of the shower either, that's a giveaway."

"What, you can't have a shower?"

"He likes me to shower with him. We always shower together, oops, sorry, Mulder."

Mulder sighed. "That's OK. I'll tell you what, you call ME when you have a window of time free, sweetie, OK? I see Scully coming; I'd better hang up and answer the door."

"Kiss, kiss," said Krycek.

"Kiss, kiss," said Mulder. "I love you. Alex?"

"Mm?"

"Watch yourself. Be careful not to fall in love with him."

Krycek snorted. "Not bloody likely, is it? He beat the crap out of me last night again."

"WHAT! I'm coming over right now and getting you!"

"Mulder! No. No, you're not. Now calm down, take a Valium."

Mulder hung up. "Uh-oh," said Alex Krycek.

"Mulder, who was that?" asked Scully suspiciously.

"No one. It was no one," said Mulder, pulling on a jacket.

"Where are you going?"

"Nowhere. I'm going nowhere, and I'm going there fast."

"Mulder, don't even think about seeing Alex Krycek. If Skinner knew about it, he'd have your badge."

"I'm.Just.Going.For.A.Drive," Mulder ground out.

He brushed aside the hand she laid on his and jogged to his car. "Mulder! Don't do this! Mulder! I care about you so much; don't do this! He's not the only one who loves you!"

He glanced back at the woebegone little face and said, "I'm sorry, Scully."

He roared up the road and was there in fifteen minutes. He pressed the button at the gate, noting the pack of German Shepherds carefully observing his car. "Mulder," he said, and was buzzed through. Krycek met him at the back door. "Oh, Alex, your poor face!" he said, took him in his arms and kissed him. 

"Come inside," said Krycek.

"Hi, Fox," said Bill Runningwater. "It's not safe for you here, and you make it unsafe for Alex."

"Whose side are you on?" Mulder asked. "You married us, remember?" 

"I do, and I divorced you too. Alex is married to someone else now. You should leave them alone."

"When he beats Alex like this?" Mulder said, indicating Krycek's bruises.

"Those are not serious injuries, and he only got them because of your outrageous behavior with him."

"Meaning, we had sex? That's so outrageous?"

Runningwater sighed. "What are you drinking? Would you like a glass of wine?...Here you go. You have to understand, Mulder, just how possessive this guy is, how jealous, and how insanely in love he is with Alex. He thinks the sun rises and sets with Alex, just as you do. He is every bit as gone on Alex as you are. Right now, he's sitting somewhere in a meeting, thinking of Alex. When he gets in his car to drive home, he is thinking, is Alex there, waiting for me?"

"Oh, it's just a sexual thing," said Mulder confidently. "He's in love with screwing Alex, not the person."

"Wrong," said Runningwater, pouring a cup of coffee for Krycek. "He loves the person. What strikes you about this ranch? The security? That was put in to keep Alex safe. The horses? Forty head, all purchased for Alex, who is quite the horseman. The stable they're constructing, to keep Alex happy. The fancy Ferrari, Alex's, because he likes sports cars. The grand piano, Alex's, because he is a gifted singer. He would never do all these things for someone who is just a good fuck."

Mulder waved dismissively. "So he has a lot of money. He uses it to assuage his own guilt."

Runningwater turned to Krycek. "You've been mighty quiet. What do you think?"

Krycek frowned slightly. "I don't know what I think. Yes, he does love me, Mulder, and I think he loves me a lot. But I do wish he wouldn't hit me."

Bill said, "I know you know what to do to prevent him from ever hitting you again. You know it, you just don't want to do it."

Krycek looked down. "You mean, stay away from Mulder?"

"Basically, yes," said Runningwater. "Why is that so hard? You have an attentive lover who loves you, who takes care of you and who gives you a lot of pleasure; many people would envy you, Alex."

"Why can't I be grateful, you mean?"

"Something like that."

"Because I love Mulder so much, that's why."

"Alexei," Runningwater said softly, "you love the Old Man more, much more than you know. You are going to outlast him on this earth; then you will see."

Krycek rolled his eyes.

"Youth is wasted on the young," said Bill. Oh, God, we've got company," he said, looking out the kitchen window. "Just stay put, Mulder, you're not doing anything wrong."

The man came through the door, didn't look right or left but walked to Krycek, embraced him and took him in a long and deep kiss, stroking his hair and shoving his hips into Krycek's.

"Get out, Fox," the man said, without once looking at him. "You are uninvited."

"Better go," said Runningwater, taking hold of Mulder's arm.

Mulder stood with his fists clenched. "Don't even think about hitting me, Fox," the man said, still looking at Krycek. "Alex, darling," he said, and kissed him again.

"I should shoot you," Mulder said. "It would rid the world of a great evil. Plus, it would be fun!"

"These macho pissing contests are beginning to irk me, Fox," the Smoking Man said, shaking out a cigarette and lighting it. You will not shoot me, and you will go back, and you will not bother me or mine again!"

"Yours?"

"Mine. Would you like another demonstration? Alex and I would be happy to give you one."

"MULDER," said the Navajo, taking his arm and pointing him in the direction of the kitchen door. "OUT."

************************************************************************

"Where the hell were you?" Scully asked tightly, standing in Mulder's doorway. "You totally missed it."

"I missed what?"

"Bekins and O'Farrell came back and Johansen, Dave and I placed them under arrest for espionage. They're cooling their heels at Elmwood in Milpitas. 

"No SHIT!" exclaimed Mulder in admiration. "Good job! So they were spies for him, after all!"

"Yes, but of course they deny everything. Plus, if Someone wants them out of jail, they won't be there long. But we did try interrogating them, and we will try again tomorrow, if they're still there. Were you over at Krycek's, Mulder?"

"No, why?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "You must think I'm really stupid. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. I'll tell 'em you had car trouble on the way to the store."

"Thanks, Scully," he said gratefully. "I wish I had. The Smoking Man showed up and ruined everything."

"Doesn't he always? Did he catch you?"

"Doing something? Oh, no. He doesn't. But then he always puts it right in my face."

Scully hugged him. "Hey, Mulder. I know it's hard for you. But you have to stay away from them. He does that because he is pea-green with envy and jealousy. Come on, Mulder, you're a psychologist! You understand what's going on! Get with the program here! Why go running into danger and misery?"

"Because Alex told me the Old Man beat the shit out of him last night for screwing me in the foyer, remember, the wire picked up all our sounds."

"Oooooh," said Scully. "I see. Hm. I don't have an answer to that, Mulder. Alex knew the danger when he wore the wire and yet made love to you. That was very reckless, and he knew it."

"Hey, you can't say he was asking for it; that isn't right."

"No," said Scully, frowning, "but Mulder, he...there's something wrongheaded about it. Doing that was...it was really stupid, obtuse, or else really self-destructive. Well, anyway. I was on my way up to Amanda's apartment. Will you come with me? I want to ask her some questions, if she's up there."

"Her apartment could be jinxed," she said, "it was Mahdib's old flat, and remember what happened to her."

Scully knocked. "Amanda?" There was no answer. Scully used the master key to let herself in. There was very little left in the bare apartment, but enough to tell that she'd left. "Probably moved in with the Smoking Man," she said grimly. "Or maybe back to her old place in Los Altos. She could do terrible damage." Scully thought, fire from the sky, and she shuddered.

"Containment?" asked Mulder. She shrugged. "I'll put in another call to Skinner. Boy, that'll be the third one today, and the day's not over."

They trudged down the stairs, meeting Johansen on the way up.

"Good work," said Mulder, and Johansen nodded stiffly. 

"Stuck-up asshole," Mulder murmured to Scully.

"He's not," she said. "He's still a little frosted over your punching him in the face, Mulder. Speaking of punches, I'll need to get that hole in the sheetrock fixed."

"Hey, I'm a little frosted over his molesting my lover."

"It wasn't exactly at gunpoint, Mulder. Alex is just as much to blame."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "What's for lunch, Scully? You?" he asked hopefully.

She smirked. "You wish. Listen to you! You're just as bad as Alex, maybe worse!"

"I want to interrogate those agents," Mulder said suddenly, "and I want to do it today. They could vanish tomorrow. Will you come with me?"

"Sure I will, Mulder. I'll drive. Just let me get my handbag."

They drove to the Elmwood Correctional Facility in Milpitas, going past the "Great Mall" on the way. "This is supposed to be the biggest mall in the world, or something," said Mulder. "It was built in an abandoned Ford plant."

"Ah," said Scully, intelligently. "Well, we'll have to swing by sometime. I love to shop, and haven't had any opportunity to yet."

They submitted to the search on the way into the jail, parked and were directed to Bekins' and O'Farrell's area. They sat down on hard chairs in a little cinderblock room and waited until Bekins was brought in. "You're working for the Smoking Man," said Mulder, pulling out a packet of sunflower seeds and popping a few into his mouth. "Would you like a cup of coffee? Scully, go get the man some coffee."

"Thank you for the coffee, but I have no idea of what you're talking about. I'm not working for the Smoking Man, I'm working against him."

"Oh yeah? Have you made a phone call since you were here?"

"Yes, to my lawyer."

"What's your lawyer's name?"

The man hesitated. "Uh..."

"Exactly," said Mulder smugly, cracking a seed. Scully came back with the coffee. "You called him, didn't you? And now he's pulling strings, getting you out. That's if you were able to reach him."

"Espionage," said Mulder, "carries a stiff penalty. If you talk to us, I will guarantee you can plead down to a much lesser charge. If you talk."

"What about O'Farrell?" the man asked, hesitantly.

"Same thing," said Mulder, spitting a hull. "If he talks, he can plead down. If he doesn't, the espionage charge will stick. Twenty years to life in a Federal pen."

"I just started working for him," Bekins said slowly, "the other day. He offered me a lot of money, said he could get me cars, women, anything I wanted. I took the money. I told him everything I knew about the case and about Amanda Jones."

"Amanda is missing," Mulder said, "she moved out. Any idea of where she might be?"

Bekins shook his head. "She could be back in Los Altos; she could be at his house by now; I don't know."

Mulder nodded. "All right. What did you know about the case?"

Bekins shrugged. "Everything you folks know, that you talked about anyway. Everything I was briefed on by Skinner."

Mulder shoved him; he almost tipped over in his chair. "Every fuckin' thing!" he said bitterly.

"Mulder," said Scully warningly. "There's a guard outside the door."

"I don't care...what else?"

"That's all," said Bekins, spreading his hands.

A key turned in the lock and the door was opened. "You," the guard said, pointing to the prisoner, "come with me!"

"Hey!" said Mulder. "I wasn't done with him!"

"He's being released," said the guard shortly.

Mulder and Scully sprang to their feet. "And how may that be?" asked Mulder, "when he hasn't even had an arraignment yet?"

"I don't know," said the guard shortly.

Mulder and Scully looked at each other. "Can someone escort us out, please?" asked Mulder. Another correctional officer escorted them out, buzzed them through the last door, and they took off through the parking lot at a dead run. There...two men being loaded into the back seat of a Mercedes, another leaning negligently against the hood, smoking.

"FBI!" cried Scully fiercely, showing her badge. The man laughed shortly. "Go away, Ms. Scully," he said. "You too, Fox. You don't want these two agents anyway, do you? They're nothing but trouble."

"Give them back; you can't take them!" said Mulder.

"I can and I will," said the man, climbing into the passenger seat of the car. "Bruno," he said, and the Mercedes peeled out of the parking lot. Mulder and Scully ran back to their car. "I'm driving," said Mulder. On the way out, the car was subjected to another search and Mulder fumed. 

"We've lost 'em anyway, Mulder," said Scully philosophically.

Bruno navigated the silver Mercedes up Penitencia Creek Road into the wild, brushy east foothills of San Jose. "Where are you taking us?" asked O'Farrell, suspiciously.

"For a little ride," said the Smoking Man. "Isn't it a lovely day?"

They turned into Alum Rock Park, drove past the closed ranger's kiosk and parked in the north lot. "Get out and walk," said the man.

"Where are we going?" asked O'Farrell. "You promised us immunity."

"I promised you nothing," said the man, alighting from the car and lighting a cigarette; "therefore, that's what you will get. Bruno, Dane."

Bekins and O'Farrell were convinced to leave the car at the point of two Uzis. "You double-crossed us," Bekins said.

"And you double-crossed me," said the man. "So we're even. Walk up this trail."

At the top of the trail he pulled out his Glock, fitted it with a silencer, and shot them both. "The Uzis would have made too much noise," he said. "There are dwellings close enough for people to have heard them."

************************************************************************

"I think that looks good, Alex, why don't you stop there?"

Krycek looked in the mirror at his most recent hair-creation. He'd gelled and moussed his long, recalcitrant locks into something resembling submission. "All right, Bill," he said. "We'll see what he says. When's he due home, anyway?" he asked, looking anxiously at the clock.

The Navajo shrugged. "Who can tell, with him? Oh, I think I hear him now!"

He came through the door, calling "Alex! ALEX!"

"I'm here," said Krycek, popping his head outside of the bedroom.

"You've been fixing your hair? Yes, I think it looks nice that way. Maybe not as sexy, but well-groomed. What are you wearing? Oh, that's a nice suit," he said, picking it up from its draping-place across a chair. "With that cummerbund? Wear your black Bally shoes. When you've dressed, I'll do your face so no one will be able to see the bruises."

"OK," said Krycek. "Wanna shower first?"

"Yes, I had planned to. After you've dressed, I'll do your face."

On the way up Highway 280 to San Francisco, the man told Krycek, "the opera was written by Verdi, as you probably know. It is supposed to take place in Egypt, which the Victorian world was fascinated by. There were several major archaeological discoveries at the time that fueled this interest."

"Yes," said Krycek, "I actually am sort of familiar with it. I'm really looking forward to it. What do you do, as a member of the audience? You don't clap after every aria, do you?"

"No. After every act. Every scene."

"Do I look OK?"

The man turned to him. "You look scrumptious, darling. Every pair of eyes will be on you."

They parked and walked to the Opera House. The two men were elegant in their evening suits and capes. "There's a wine and cheese reception," the man remarked. "We might as well take advantage of it."

Krycek collected a glass of wine and some caviar on toast and stood near the Smoking Man, who was talking quietly to another older man. The man made introductions and Krycek experienced the not-altogether-pleasant sensation of being undressed by others' eyes. "All eyes are on you, Alex, as I predicted," the Smoking Man said.

Krycek wondered what it would be like to not be noticed, and concluded that it might be nice.

Nearby, a society columnist in a gold evening gown did a double-take on the couple, the older man with the stunning young one. Wonder who they are, she thought, and threaded her way through the throng toward them, holding a wineglass like a flashlight. "I'm ___ _________," she said, extending her hand, "and you are--?"

"No one," said the CSM smoothly, and, taking Krycek's arm in his, moved away.

"What was that about?" asked Krycek.

"That's ___ _________," he said, "and if we talked to her we'd be all over the Chronicle."

"Oh," said Krycek, "wouldn't it be fun to be all over the Chronicle?"

"No."

They took their seats in the box and the CSM handed Krycek opera glasses. "We're pretty far from the stage, and you'll want to be able to see everything. This opera is in Italian; most are. If you have any questions about what they're singing, just ask. I speak Italian pretty well."

Krycek nodded. What don't you fuckin' do? He wondered.

Krycek enjoyed the overture and the glorious music and pageantry of the opera, not noticing that people to their left and right were watching him watch it. He began to sweat a little and remembered he'd forgotten his shot.

"I'm behind in my schedule," he whispered to the man.

"At intermission I'll fix you up," he was told.

The elegant restroom was crowded with men talking animatedly to one another, doing coke and otherwise misbehaving. When the couple entered the room, all conversation died away. The CSM glanced around and steered Krycek into a stall.

"Did you see that?" one young blond man hissed to another. 

"I know, have you ever seen anything so yummy? How does the old guy rate?" the brownette man, snorting a line of coke, asked.

In the stall, the older man shot up the younger, who looked at him gratefully. They left the restroom.

"Fuck," said the blond young man to the brownette one. "What I'd like to do to him. I could really show him a good time."

"Watch when he leaves. Try to get his number," suggested the brownette.

The couple walked arm-in-arm back to their box. Krycek was approached by the blond man. "My name is Dwight. May I have your number?" he asked.

"No, you may not," said the older man, and pulled Krycek closer to him. In the box, he created a storm of gossip among the nearby audience by kissing him.

"Don't you worry about people talking about us because we're gay?" Krycek asked.

The man laughed. "This is San Francisco!"

After the opera, the man didn't head home but instead drove to a large hotel, the Mark Hopkins. The CSM opened the trunk. "I packed you a change of clothes and all your toiletries," he said to the surprised Krycek. A valet parked the Mercedes and they checked in. Their room was the penthouse suite. "Wow!" said Krycek. "This is really nice! I thought we were just going home!"

"No, I wanted to make a night of it. I wanted it to be really special for you, Alex."

"Well, it is! Thank you!" and he kissed him. "Let's make love," he said a moment later, and they did.

"Now I want to take you out to dinner," the man said, knotting his tie. "You can choose the restaurant you like, or we can eat here, at the Top of the Mark."

"Let's eat here," said Krycek.

They dined on lobster, shrimp bisque and a pine nut/goat cheese salad. The other restaurant patrons were abuzz over them. Obviously gay and clearly close, the older man kissed the hand of the younger, and the younger reciprocated. To all appearances they were very much in love, so much so that they had eyes only for each other. One diner slipped a business card, with a $50 bill, to the waiter, with instructions to take it to the gorgeous man in the green shirt. He did, and Krycek looked at it. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this?" he wondered.

The older man confiscated it, tore it up. "That's what you're supposed to do with it," he said.

Back in the suite, the CSM approached Krycek and kissed him. "Lie back on the bed," he said. "Let me take care of you." Krycek lay back, unzipping himself. He was prepared to be pleased, but he was unprepared for the vivid quality of this pleasure that led to his coming so hard he sat up and screamed.

"I'd like to fuck you now," the man said.

"Please do," said Krycek.

************************************************************************

Amanda Jones stood in line at the San Jose Airport, looking anxiously around for a tail. There didn't seem to be one, but she checked her bags and got her boarding pass to Philadelphia with her heart just a little bit in her throat.

She boarded the plane and still, no trouble. She flew first class and drank champagne and tried to relax. She was going back to her family and hoped they and she would be safe. She had no desire to continue in her chosen occupation after her hideous experience, and figured she could become a secretary or something to support herself. Maybe she could even get married, settle down.

"Mom!" she said into her cell phone when she'd disembarked. "This is Mandy! I'm back in town! Oh, it's so good to hear your voice!"

"Amanda? This is great! Fabulous! Dad, Mandy's back! Do you need a ride from the airport?"

"That would be really nice," said Ms. Jones.

When she saw her parents' Lexus pulling up to the curb, Amanda couldn't help it. She started to cry. "Mom," she sobbed inside the car, "I saw the Devil! I saw the Devil!"

"Mandy," her mother said, smoothing her hair, "when we get home you can tell me all about it. I got a bag of MacDonald's stuff, if you're at all interested."

Amanda tore into a burger and fries, still weeping, her spy persona dropped. "I can't do what I do, any longer," she said. "I hate it!"

"What, your writing?" her father asked, puzzled.

"Hell, no. I'm not a writer, guys. I'm a spy!"

"Oh, my God," her mother said softly. "That explains so much."

************************************************************************

"We lost them," said Mulder, on the way back home.

"Hey, no shit," said Scully. "Next thing we know, someone will find their bodies on a deserted trail somewhere. That's it, Mulder. Guess we make another call to Skinner."

"Scully, we're getting nowhere fast on this case! By the way, do you suppose the Lone Gunmen are OK? We just left them without thinking."

"They should be under guard by now," she said carelessly. "Ever since I heard about their dream, I'm less frightened than I was."

"On the basis of a dream? Scully, you're beginning to sound like me!"

"I know, I know."

On the way back they passed a Palo Alto Unitarian church. There were long lines of people. "I wonder what they're lining up for," she said.

"For food, probably," said Mulder.

"There are poor people in Palo Alto?" she asked in surprise.

"'The poor you will have with you always.' Yes, Scully, there are."

"Stop!" she said suddenly. "Turn around and go back to the church!"

They drew into the parking lot and stopped in a space. "I'm going inside," said Scully. "Well, I'm going with you," said Mulder. They walked into a cafeteria, where the people were being served. "I'd like to make a donation," said Scully. She was referred to the pastor, and she wrote out a check for $1,000. The man took it with something like awe. "This is fantastic!" he said. "This will feed a thousand people!" Mulder, after staring at her dumbfounded, wrote out a check for $500. The pastor thanked them both effusively and invited them to stay for lunch. "It's turkey sandwiches," he said. "Real turkey." They politely refused and headed out to the car. Leaning against it was a young woman in a long white dress and blue shawl. At their approach, she stood up, but they could not see her face, which was obscured by the shawl.

"Whatsoever ye doeth unto the humblest of thee, thou doest unto me," she said softly. "Bless you both!"

"Who are you?" Scully asked.

The woman threw back her shawl. "Oh, God," said Mulder. It was indeed Rose of Sharon.

"Wow!" breathed Scully. "This is..." and the woman simply disappeared. "Where'd she go?" asked Scully.

Mulder said nothing, and said nothing during the ride through the two miles or so to the Victorian. "I'm beginning to see what you mean," he said, when they got out of the car. "Maybe the Gunmen will be OK."

There was a knock on his door shortly after he got home and the Gunmen trooped in. "Where are your guards?" asked Mulder. "If you tell me they've gone out for ice cream, I'll bite you."

"I received a call from Skinner about half an hour ago. We'll be getting the guards sometime tonight."

"Well, has he tried to kill you?"

"No," said Frohike, "not that we know of. We even went to the newsstand on Lytton, no problem."

"You're not supposed to go out at all," sighed Mulder. "If you need to, please contact one of us to go with you."

"I don't like this," said Langly, popping a sucker into his mouth. "This is no fun."

"If he hurts or kills you, Langly, then you'll know what 'no fun' really, truly is. Do you guys have any more techie information for me?"

Byers shook his head. "No. I think the information that you most need now is, number one, where these chips are manufactured, and two, when and where the desktops will be distributed, and we don't have it."

"No," said Mulder thoughtfully. "Our agents combing the valley looking for the manufacturer have come up with absolute zilch. I have a feeling we're racing against time here. And we could be losing the race."

************************************************************************

After they'd made love several times, the young man fell asleep on the bed and the older man put on a robe and went to work with his laptop. Once, he glanced over at Krycek, peacefully slumbering, his soft lips parted slightly, eyes with their thick fringe of black lashes closed, his moussed hair come loose and falling in long locks over his face. Oh, God, he was beautiful, just gorgeous, and there was no one like him.

They awoke at 6:00 with the hotel wake-up call, dressed and packed up. "I have a meeting this morning," the older man said to the younger. "I'm going to drop you at home first. Are you hungry?"

"No," Krycek said. "We can go on home. Why can't I ever sit in on your meetings?"

"Maybe sometime," the man said cautiously. "But not now. I can't take the risk, Alex, that anything we say will be repeated to Fox Mulder."

"You don't trust me then," said Krycek.

"No, my sweet, my darling love, I do not. Now you have a nice day and buy that mare you were talking about. Buy any horse you like. Buy several."

"An Arab stud I was looking at?" asked Krycek hopefully. "Very beautiful, very good bloodlines."

"Buy him," said the man.

************************************************************************

"I've got the distribution plan worked out," said the CSM, "and I've made copies for everyone. We'll have 5,000 units ready by the middle of February, and I want them to go to Algeria."

"Why Algeria?" asked the Well-Manicured Man, working on his tall latte. "Did you spin the globe and mash your finger down somewhere?"

"It's a second-world country, not a major power, not particularly hostile to America," the CSM said.

"It sounds potentially workable," said the First Elder cautiously. "What kind of transportation were you thinking of?"

"Air," said the CSM, lighting a cigarette.

"Are there 5,000 people in Algeria willing to buy a new PC?" asked the WMM.

"Yes," said the Smoking Man. "We're pricing them to sell."

"Won't that attract attention?" asked the First Elder, drinking cappuccino.

"No, I don't think so," said the CSM, "I've already contacted a distributor I think I'll use, and they'll do a promotional sale with it; there's nothing irregular about that."

"Who's the distributor?" asked the Second Elder.

"ThruWay Systems," said the CSM, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another. "I have something else to discuss: the matter of Amanda Jones. I have received intelligence that she is back with her family in Philadelphia. I'm going to be taking care of her, either through an employee or by myself."

The WMM rolled his eyes. "You're always killing people. And tell me, how is it she got all the way to the East Coast without being apprehended? And what about Bekins and O'Farrell?"

"Shit happens," said the Smoking Man shortly, "and Bekins and O'Farrell have been handled."

"More killing," said the WMM. "Tell me, were you with Alex Krycek somewhere for an extended period of time yesterday? You weren't answering your cell phone all yesterday afternoon, evening and all night. You should have spent that time taking care of Jones."

"That's none of your business," said the CSM. "I've told you not to bring Alex into it. I suspect my sexual orientation bothers people here. Would you question me if I were married, say, or had a girlfriend? I think not, and I'm really tired of being harassed."

The room was silent. Then, "I'm sorry," mumbled the WMM into his caffe latte.

"You should be," said the CSM. "Now, I'm meeting with the aliens again this evening to give them the plans. Is there anything you'd like me to discuss with them?"

"What about the biological implants?" asked the First Elder.

"Not that feasible," said the CSM, drawing on his Morley. "They'll continue doing them, of course, but it's just a drop in the bucket compared to what we can accomplish with the PCs."

"Are we heading toward an apocalyptic global tragedy?" asked the WMM.

"I don't think so," said the CSM. "I believe they will simply colonize after the collapse of governments and economies."

"Is it going to be livable for us, I wonder," said the Second Elder.

"That's part of the deal," said the CSM, exhaling smoke.

************************************************************************

"That's a beautiful mare, Alex," Bob said admiringly, watching the Thoroughbred being unloaded from the previous owner's trailer. "She's got very nice lines."

"Thanks," said Krycek, leading the mare into the pasture. She reared once, reacting to the newness of her environment and the incessant pounding coming from the half-done stable. "See, her off hind, slightly bowed. I think with time she can be ridden, may even make a good dressage prospect."

"Where were you last night?" Bob asked curiously.

"At the opera with the Old Man. We saw Aida."

"Do you like opera?"

"I love it. I like all good music."

Krycek went into the house. "Where's the paper?" he asked Bill Runningwater.

"Which one?"

"The Chronicle."

"It's here," he said, handing it to him. 

Krycek went quickly to the society column and scanned it quickly, his heart beating rapidly. "Oh God," he said, "we're in ___ _________'s column."

"Good Lord, where?"

"Here, see, 'mysterious older gentleman with a young partner so stunning he drew many eyes away from the opera.' "

"Wow! You're right! Well, at least she didn't get your names."

"Not that she didn't try," said Krycek thoughtfully. "Think we should show this to the Old Man?

"I doubt we should. He doesn't want publicity. The problem is, Alex, that you stop traffic, and anywhere he goes with you, he'll attract attention."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess it's true. I never think of myself as good-looking at all. My face has too many flaws."

Runningwater snorted. "We should all have as many flaws as you do!"

Krycek smiled. "You're funny!"

************************************************************************

"It's looking like the end of the first week in February," said ___ ___. The man nodded. "That's good. You will have the chips installed in the computers by then?"

"No, give us one more week after that. We'll shoot for then."

"I need a hard and fast date."

"OK, February 14. You want us to ship them somewhere?"

"I've arranged for my distributor to pick them up and ship them. You don't have to worry about that aspect of the project," the man said, lighting a cigarette. "How is security?"

"Same as it's always been; good. We haven't had any breaches, if that's what you're worried about."

"I am worried about it. Everything needs to be perfectly secure."

"It is, I assure you."

"It had better be."

There was an "or else" implied, and ____ wondered what it might be. The man was quietly menacing, clearly someone you didn't cross.

"Who are you?" he found himself asking.

"Just a businessman," the man answered.

************************************************************************

"He's what now, dear?" asked Mrs. Jones, taking a sweet potato pie out of the oven. "When this is a little cooler, you can have some."

"Thanks, Mom," said Amanda, eyeing the pie. "I said, he's like someone out of a sci-fi book who controls practically everything and everyone. He's got this son, who's an FBI agent and very nice, and this queery lover, a guy who used to be a spy."

"Never did like homosexuals very much," said Mr. Jones into his paper.

"He kills people, Mom, kills them right and left," she said, ignoring her own recent murders.

"Well, can't you call the police? Do you think this pie is underdone?"

"The pie's fine, Mom. See, the toothpick came out clean. No, I can't call the police because he controls them too."

"How's that, Mandy?" called her father.

"I don't know; he just does. He has an international power base."

"Sounds like a spy novel," remarked the elder Jones.

"Well, I am a spy," said Amanda.

"Amanda, what an interesting life you've led. Write it all down for your book."

She rolled her eyes. "OK, the thing is, Mom and Dad, that this guy is going to come gunning for me one of these days, and it's best I get my own apartment, so I don't place you two in any danger."

Mr. Jones looked up from his paper. "I'm going to call the police in where? Palo Alto?"

"Portola Valley, and they'll just laugh you off the planet."

"Let 'em..." he picked up the phone. "Portola Valley, California. Police...Yes, my name is Ed Jones of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and I'm calling to report a criminal...I have reason to believe he'll be coming to kill my daughter...What's his name, Mandy...C.G.B. Spender...why are you laughing at me?...What?...you're kidding!...I'll call the FBI!"

Amanda stood before him, shaking her head. "See what I mean? And don't bother calling the FBI, because he has most of them in his pocket too."

"Not the people you were living with, surely?" Mrs. Jones asked.

"Not them, but they don't have any power. You see why I have to move?"

"Stay here a little while," said Mrs. Jones. "have some pie."

************************************************************************

"I'm only back for a little while," the man said, coming through the front door and kissing Krycek. "I have a flight to catch, love."

"Oh, where are you going?"

"The East Coast," the man said shortly, walking into the living room. 

"Gonna knock someone off?" Krycek asked lazily.

"It's none of your pretty little business. Now come here and sit in my lap."

Krycek did so, and the man kissed him again. "We have enough time," he said, and began undressing Krycek.

Afterward, Krycek wandered into the den and began playing INXS songs. "Lately, you look around, you're wondering what you're doing, yeah lately, you look around, you're wondering what you're seeing," he sang.

"Phone!" called Bill Runningwater, holding it out to him.

"Krycek."

"It's Mulder, how are you?"

"MULDER! I'm fine, my love, and you?"

"Pretty well. You're alone?"

"Just me and Bill, why?"

"Do you know whether he's flying anywhere?"

"Yes, the East Coast. Why?"

"Oh, God," said Mulder. "We have reason to believe he's going to kill Amanda Jones."

"Can you reach her?"

"We're trying to get her out of Directory Assistance. 'Jones', not exactly an uncommon name."

"Oh geez," said Krycek. "Call Skinner?"

"Yeah, I left a voicemail. "

"Wanna come over, Mulder? He'll be gone at least 10 or 12 hours."

"Um, don't tempt me! Yeah, I'll be over shortly."

Krycek buzzed him through and met him in the driveway. "Darling," he said, taking him in a scalding kiss. "Darling."

"Oh, my love, my love," said Mulder.

Krycek backed him against the exterior wall. "Right here, Mulder," he breathed, unsnapping him and pulling his pants down. "Turn around."

Mulder turned around. Krycek kissed him, nipped the back of his neck. Mulder felt the momentary coldness of K-Y jelly on his butt, Krycek's hard cock pushing at the tight ring of muscle, then he was through. Mulder moaned. "I'm gonna fuck you so good," Krycek whispered in his ear. "So good." He teased Mulder at first, sliding in an inch, then out, then pushed in his full length.

"Ah," said Mulder. "Touch me!"

Krycek took his cock in hand and began pumping it while he fucked him. "Feels so good!" Mulder gasped out. "Fuck me!"

Krycek stroked him and fucked him for a few minutes, sucking his neck, kissing his lips, nipping the full lower lip, until Mulder tensed and came all over the wall. Krycek was a couple of seconds behind him, groaning and emptying himself into Mulder's heat.

"That was good!" gasped Mulder, turning around to face Krycek. 

"You're right, it was good!" said Krycek. "Come inside for more!"

Bill Runningwater looked disapprovingly at them. "You shouldn't," he said.

"Hey, whose side are you on?" asked Krycek.

"He's faithful to you," the Navajo pointed out.

"HA! He's probably got a boyfriend in every port!"

"There was just one that I know of," said Runningwater. "And he didn't love him. He loves you, Alexei. And you, Mulder, are supposed to be home. You are consorting with the enemy. You could lose your assignment, your badge and even your freedom."

"Shit," said Mulder, "what's all this, all of a sudden? You married us."

"And I divorced you," he said, arms folded. "Alexei is married to someone else now."

"So I hear!" said Mulder. "Doesn't it hurt your conscience to have done something like that, when you know Alex and I are in love?"

"It doesn't," said Bill. "I love him and Alex so much, and I would naturally want to see them together."

"Well, you turncoat!" said Mulder. "You've mated Alex with the Devil."

"He's not the Devil," said Runningwater, "he's a human being." 

"You could've fooled me," said Mulder. They faced off for a long moment, then Krycek took Mulder's hand. 

"The bedroom!" he said. "Now!" Mulder followed Krycek into the bedroom and shut the door. 

"Alex," said Mulder, "I love you. I love you so much!" and he embraced Krycek.

"I love you, too, Mulder. Let's get naked."

"I get to fuck you this time," said Mulder, skinning out of jeans and shirt. "Lie on your back, that's right. I'll put this pillow under your hips ... perfect!" he pulled out the K-Y jelly and glopped it over his huge hard cock and his hand. "One finger, Alex," he said, and Krycek moaned as Mulder slid a finger up him. "Two," said Mulder, and Krycek groaned again. "Three," said Mulder, then "are you ready for the whole thing?"

"Oh, do it, Mulder, do it now!"

"All right," said Mulder, and carefully slid his fist up Krycek, who gasped and moved, incredibly pleasurably impaled. He bent to Krycek's cock and sucked him till he was almost ready to come, then withdrew his hand and mounted him, pounding home his orgasm and Krycek's. They came at the same time, screaming and spurting hot come.

"That was hot!" said Krycek. "Wanna have more fun in the shower?"

They turned the shower on full-blast. Krycek stood letting the water pour over his closed eyes, his face, and into and out of his open mouth. "God!" said Mulder, and knelt in front of Krycek. "You are so sexy, Alex," he said, and took his large hard cock in his mouth, sucking from root to tip, deep-throating Krycek, licking the shaft. "Oh," said Krycek, and came with a shout, his legs almost buckling beneath him.

"My turn," said Mulder. Krycek knelt in front of him, hot water pouring down on them both, and licked at first just the head of Mulder's enormous rock-hard cock, then down the shaft and up, playing with his balls, massaging the tip of his cock with the back of his throat, sucking from root to tip till Mulder came in his mouth.

"Taste," said Krycek, rising, and deep-kissed Mulder. "I'm gonna get hard again," said Mulder.

"That's all right. We can fuck for hours, if you like."

"I like," said Mulder.

Two hours later, they wandered into the kitchen. Bill Runningwater looked at them and shook his head.

"You're not gonna snitch me off to the Old Man, are you?" Krycek asked. "Boy, he'd beat the crap out of me."

"It wouldn't be anything new," said Runningwater.

"Are you on the rag or something, Bill? What's the deal?" asked Krycek irritably.

"The deal is he needs you and you don't need to be stepping out on him. No, I won't rat on you, but I'm not happy about it at all."

"Hey," said Mulder, "is there orange juice?...thanks! Really, Bill, I thought you were on our side. I don't understand you."

The Navajo sighed. "The world is shortly to become a very scary place. Those two need each other, Mulder, more than you and Alex need each other."

"What do you mean?" asked Mulder alertly. "You know something, don't you? Tell me!"

"Nope," said Runningwater. "That's privileged information," he said, folding his arms.

"Christ!" said Mulder, running a hand through his hair. "Do you mean to tell me you DO know something? As an agent of the Federal Government, I can take you to jail and interrogate you."

"And as a minister, anything I hear from him is privileged. You can't make me talk!

"You're really an ordained minister?"

"Hell, yeah. Of the Unitarian Church; I'm also a tribal shaman. You know that."

"Oh," said Mulder. "Well, if you're so holy, tell me what you're doing with him."

"We've been over this ground before, Mulder. We're friends, have been for thirty years. I love him no matter what."

"Damn," said Mulder. "So some kind of shitstorm is going down, and you won't tell us what it is?"

"Find out for yourself!"

"Alex, do you know something?"

Krycek laughed. "I know nothing. I'm a mushroom. Keeps me in the dark. He won't let me go to his Syndicate meetings because he's afraid I'll rat on him to you."

"Which you would probably do," said Runningwater. "Do you want champagne in that orange juice, Mulder? How about a snack? I baked some cookies."

"'K," said Mulder. "I don't have to drive back just yet."

************************************************************************

"Mandy, dear, wake up! There's someone downstairs who wants to see you."

Amanda Jones sat up, rubbing her eyes sleepily. "Who is it, Mom?"

"He says it's a friend."

"What's his name?"

"He just said to give you this," Mrs. Jones said, and handed her an empty Morley cigarette pack. Her eyes dilated wildly. 

"What's the matter, dear?"

"It's him," she whispered, "oh, God, it's him!"

"The man you were working for? I'll call the police right now!" she said, picking up the phone and dialing 911.

Amanda went out the second-story window, hanging on a trellis for support on her way down. Once down, she sprinted for her car. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man running toward her. He reached her and tackled her. "Never underestimate me," he said, and put a bullet in her brain.

The weeping Jones relatives gathered around the hospital bed wherein lay Amanda Jones, connected to life support. The attending physician approached Mrs. Jones. "I'm Dr. Graves," he said. "Are you her mother?"

"Yes," she sniffled.

"She's a crime victim, and I understand the person responsible has not been apprehended?" he asked. "Well, I hope he will be. This is a very grievous matter. We were able to remove the bullet, but a lot of her frontal and occipital lobes were torn up. If she does ever regain consciousness, she'll have severe emotional and cognitive deficits."

"How long do you expect her to remain in the coma?"

The doctor shrugged. "Could be hours, days, months...who can tell? You have the option, of course, of turning off the life support."

"No," said the mother firmly. "That I will not do. As long as there's life, there's hope."

************************************************************************

"Where's Mulder?" asked Frohike at the noon meal at Scully's. It was grilled cheese sandwiches, and he loved these.

"Out," said Scully grimly, thinking, I know where he is.

"What happened to Amanda?" Langly asked. "She was really pretty."

"Also out," said Scully. "Who likes garlic?"

"I do," said one of the bodyguards, Evans. "Here you go, then," said Scully. "Garlicky. Langly, we think Amanda made it home to her parents', but we don't know what happened after that."

"But you do know, don't you?" asked White, coming in the back door.

Scully said nothing. "This one's oniony," she said. 

"I'll take that," said Byers. "What happened to Amanda?"

"We think he may have gotten to her," said Scully slowly.

"Hey, everyone in the house was supposed to be protected, according to our dream," said Frohike.

"She left the house, didn't she?" said Scully. "And therefore forfeited the protection."

"If he kills one more of our people, I personally will kick his ass," said White. "Dana, make me one with that Milton's bread, please."

"You and who else will kick his ass?" asked Scully. "This one has Swiss cheese. Middleton, you want it? Great!" she said, handing a plate to one of the other guards.

"Dana, this can't go on!"

"It has to, I've got several more mouths to feed here."

"I mean the thing with the Smoking Man."

"I hate the bastard," she said grimly. "Just as much as you do, if not more."

"Where's Mulder?" asked White.

"Where's Mulder?" asked Johansen, coming in the front door. "Mm, grilled cheese sandwiches! Sourdough, Monterey Jack, please, Scully."

"Mulder is out," said Scully. "Aged cheddar on rye? OK, Langly, here you go!"

"Mulder is out," repeated Johansen. "Out, as in, with Krycek?"

Scully was silent, flipping sandwiches on the griddle.

"I'll give him one more chance," said White, "then I'll report him to Skinner. He's consorting with the enemy. Who knows what he's telling Krycek?"

"He's probably not telling him anything," Scully said. "His mouth is otherwise occupied."

White stared at her. "That was crude, coming from you, Dana."

"Cheddar on oat nut," she said, handing him a plate.

************************************************************************

"Time for me to get back," said Mulder. "They'll be wondering about me."

"All right, darling. It was marvelous, having you over," Krycek said, kissing him deeply.

He watched Mulder negotiate the winding driveway and the gate, which he opened with the remote. Then he went to take another shower. When he came out, he realized he needed a shot. "I'm not very good at it," he told Bill. "Would you please do it for me?"

"I'm not going to enable your habit," Runningwater said stiffly.

Krycek went into withdrawal, curling up on the couch in a tight little knot of misery and despair, and that is how the Smoking Man found him. "For God's sake," he said, "didn't you get your medicine?"

"I don't do it very well," Krycek said, sweating and shaking. "Please?"

"Of course," the man said, dropping his briefcase. "I'll fix you up." He injected Krycek, who soon began to feel better, relaxing his clenched muscles.

"I hate to see you suffer," the man said, lighting a cigarette. "Come sit with me while I read the paper."

"Did you kill anyone?" Krycek asked.

"My charming, nosy Ratboy. None of your business."

Krycek lay on the couch with his head in the man's lap. Occasionally the CSM reached down to play with his hair. "You're damp," he said, "have you showered?" Krycek felt his blood run cold. "I wanted to be nice and clean for you."

"That's nice," the man said distractedly. "We'll go make love in a little while. Bill, let me see the Chronicle." He read the society column. "We made the paper," he said. "I ought to go get that columnist bitch."

"She doesn't mention any names," said Krycek.

"That's only because she doesn't have them. Alex, good Lord, that feels good! Ah...keep it up!"

"I'm sorry I was so hard on you and Mulder," Bill Runningwater said to Krycek, in low tones.

"I suppose you thought you had to be," said Krycek philosophically. "No offense. He couldn't see how you could marry us, then divorce us. It must seem like the worst treachery to him, as it did to me, when you did it, Bill."

"It isn't treachery," said Runningwater, wiping the counter.

"Then what is it?"

"An adaptation," he said slowly, "and a loyalty older than his to you."

"I can see the loyalty aspect," said Krycek. "The adaptation?"

"We're all stuck here together," said the Navajo. "Why not make it as pleasant as possible?"

"Do you have some of those tortilla chips you made, with the salsa? In the fridge? OK," Krycek said, getting them. "We're all stuck here together? What's that supposed to mean? The only stuck person is me."

"Not so," said Runningwater, shaking his head. "I am stuck because I choose to be. He is stuck in his wickedness."

"Wow," said Krycek, crunching a chip. "Wonder what that's like, to be stuck in one's wickedness."

"It isn't any E-ride," said Bill. "It's a hard place to be in. He knows who and what he is, and what his life is all about, and he cannot turn back, and he will carry it unto death, and maybe beyond. You yourself were saved from such a fate; that's why you're here."

"Working off bad karma," said Krycek. "You'd think I'd just about have it worked off by now."

"Soon, I feel," said the Navajo. "Soon, you will."

"Aren't I likely to pick up more bad karma, being around him?"

"Not at all. You don't get bad karma by having it rub off on you, you know. His is his to keep."

"And it's pretty bad, huh?" asked Krycek, dipping salsa.

"Alexei, it's so bad that... well, it's one of the worst ever. It gives me great grief, because I love him so much. He wasn't always evil."

"'Even Sauron was not so'," said Krycek thoughtfully. "These are really good chips."

"Thank you. You are quoting from the Lord of the Rings?"

Krycek nodded. "Contrary to popular opinion, I do have a mind."

"Not contrary to my opinion! I know how bright you are!"

"Uh-huh. Well, he keeps me here like the dumbest of bimbos."

"And you take the dumbest of bimbos to the opera?"

"You might," said Krycek, "if he were sufficiently decorative. Which I understand myself to be, although I can't see it. I think I'm rather plain."

"YOU!" snorted Runningwater. He walked into the nearest bathroom and came out with a hand mirror. "Here, look at this face," he said. "Look at these eyes, that nose, that mouth, those lips, that hair."

"Uh-huh," said Krycek, "I suppose."

"Come into the bathroom, Alexei. Look at those shoulders, that chest, those abs. Turn around. Look at that back, that ass, those legs, those arms!"

"Alex," called a voice from the bedroom, "what are you doing? Come back to bed!"

"Arf arf arf," said Krycek under his breath. "Coming!" he said.

"What were you two talking about?"

"About my alleged looks."

"Well, they're not just alleged. Get in bed with me. That's right." Krycek buried his face in the man's chest and felt his hair stroked and played with. "Alex, you're the most handsome man I've ever seen, AND you're the sexiest person, male or female, I've ever known. You exude sex. Why do you think everyone's in love with you?"

"I dunno. For my fine mind?"

The man laughed. "You do have one, though, and that's what makes the whole pretty package so piquant. Your hair always smells so good, Alex. Actually," the man said, kissing him, "you smell good all over."

************************************************************************

Mulder arrived at the Scully/White apartment at around 4. "What's for dinner?" he asked amiably.

Johansen, standing in the hall with a Coke, snorted. "Your ass," he said.

"Oh, kind of like Alex's?" Mulder asked.

Scully came walking up, wiping wet hands on an apron. "Guys," she said warningly.

"Hey, this guy's been out shtupping his boyfriend in the enemy's camp!" said Johansen. "I'm calling Skinner on him."

"You won't," said Scully. "You won't. Dave said to give him one more chance. So he has one more chance!" she said sternly, looking at Mulder.

She went back to her dishes. Johansen looked at Mulder. "I'll make you a deal," he said.

When Scully went to look for them, they were both gone. "Oh-oh," she said, knocking on Mulder's door. There was no answer, so she let herself in. There were sounds coming from the back bedroom. She walked toward it. "Woman on the ward!" she called, and popped her head in. Sure enough, the gorgeous Brian Johansen was engaged in screwing the handsome Fox Mulder. "You guys," she said, leaning in the doorway.

Mulder grinned, but Johansen avoided looking at her. "Get out, Scully," he said, nipping Mulder's full lower lip. "We're busy."

"It's OK," she said, taking no offense, "I'm a doctor. Look, I just came over to tell you dinner's ready."

"I'm having mine," said Johansen, shoving into Mulder, "and it's delicious."

Scully sighed and went home. "Mulder and Johansen are ... delayed," she said to White, who was putting the finishing touches on his Polynesian Chicken.

"Oh, Christ," he said, "the soap continues."

"The only thing that concerns me," she said, arranging the browned and tasty pineapple over the chicken breasts and spooning sauce over all, "is that I think Johansen may have coerced Mulder into doing it. Blackmailed, in fact," she added thoughtfully.

"How so?" asked White, scooping rice.

"I think in return for his silence, Johansen gets to do Mulder."

His eyebrows went up to his hair. "Really! Well, the plot thickens...like this sauce. Could you serve these around, Dana? I think everyone's eating in the living room. Football, or something. Did he look like he was being raped or something?"

"Who, Mulder? No, he had a big stupid grin on his face. I'd say he was enjoying himself."

"Then I'll leave them alone. Find out who wants what to drink."

Mulder and Johansen were at it for hours, thanks to Johansen's cock rings. "I could fall in love with you, you know," said Johansen, post-orgasm. "You're beautiful and sexy," he added, running a hand through Mulder's thick hair.

"I'll bet you say that to all the boys," said Mulder.

Johansen laughed. "Only the beautiful and sexy ones!"

"So the deal is...?" said Mulder.

"The deal is, for my continued silence, you and I get together on a regular basis."

"Oh," said Mulder. "All right. I can't have Skinner knowing."

"No, you can't. He'd have your badge. You'd be out picking up cans. And besides," he said, kissing Mulder, "it's very pleasant, isn't it? And it would be so convenient if you and I fell in love."

"You're the best-looking man I've ever seen, except for Alex," Mulder said.

"Oh, I'm more handsome than Alex," Johansen said, flipping hair out of his eyes. "Now let's get something other than each other to eat."

"Chicken's in the fridge," said Scully, when they walked into her flat, hand in hand. "Go ahead and heat it up in the microwave."

"Got a new boyfriend, huh, Mulder?" she asked him, spooning rice on his plate. "Well, at least you won't get in trouble with Skinner this way."

"Alex is still my boyfriend," Mulder said, "and I still love him deathlessly, OK? I had to have sex with Johansen so he wouldn't snitch on me."

"Yes, I know," said Scully. "But you liked it, didn't you?"

"Yeah," said Mulder, noncommittally. "Can I please have more sauce than this?"

************************************************************************

Krycek didn't sleep well, and was up and down all night. The Old Man couldn't sleep at all, but paced the halls and chain-smoked, more than usual. Krycek sat in the living room and watched TV, something almost never done in that household. "The Rose thing really sucks," he observed.

"Not so," said the Smoking Man. "He'll be strong on defense."

"Oh, I suppose you voted for him?"

"I'm not saying. But it's not as bad as you think."

"Do you know him?" Krycek asked curiously.

"Perhaps I do. I know them all."

"He's anti-gay."

"That doesn't concern us," said the man. "I'm very rich and very powerful, and can do as I please. Surely you've surmised that?"

"How much are you worth?"

"I've told you, more than the Gross National Product of any given developing nation."

"Am I in your will?"

"That's a hell of a question! Do you expect me to die soon? But yes, you're very well-provided for, better than you could possibly imagine."

"Oh," said Krycek. "Do you go and meet with the aliens?"

"That's another one of those questions! I can't answer it," the man said, lighting another cigarette.

"You do, don't you?" Krycek asked. "What's it like? Are you scared?"

"Alex, you're a little tremulous. I think it's time for another shot." He fetched a syringe and shot Krycek up. 

"How much am I using, exactly?" that party asked.

"It would be a $500 to $1,000 a day habit, on the street," he was told.

"Why did you do it to me?"

"You were in really serious pain after I shredded your back. I had to give you something."

"Why did you hurt me like that?"

"Has no one told you I'm jealous and possessive? If you're faithful to me, Alex, I treat you incredibly well, do I not?" he asked.

"Yes," he admitted. "Do you love me?"

The man paused in his pacing. "Do I love you? Don't I tell you that I do, twenty times a day or more? Alex, there are exactly two people on Earth I love, and you're one of them. I love you so much that the sun doesn't rise without you, not for me."

Krycek was silent. "Come to bed," he said at last. "I'll make it worth your while."

************************************************************************

Johansen wanted to fuck again after dinner so they walked up the stairs to his flat to do it. "Like my waterbed?" he asked Mulder.

"Nice, but on an upper floor?"

"I don't think it's gonna leak. Come on, let's try it out! Let's have you lie on your stomach, Mulder."

"I've got to go," Mulder said, afterward.

"Why? I want to cuddle," said Johansen.

"I need to check my voicemail."

"Oh, in case Lover Boy calls? He's probably otherwise occupied."

"Well, I've got to see to my puppy."

"All right."

Mulder went down to his flat and fed and played with the puppy, who'd been left alone a lot lately. The poor dog was happy to see him, wagged his tail and licked his hands and his face. "Laddie," Mulder said, "you adorable little thing! You don't demand anything, you're pure love!" Even if he'd come from a man who was pure hate.

Scully came over a little while later. "Mulder," she said, "I don't like to see you in a coercive situation, and I don't know what to do about Johansen."

He shrugged. "Leave it alone. I want to keep my job, Scully."

"Mulder, if you just need someone to hold, you can hold me."

He grinned. "It would turn out to be a little more than holding!"

She smiled. "I can do that, if you need it."

He held up two fingers in the shape of a cross. "Don't tempt me, Scully!"

"Mulder, you have an amazing sex drive," she said.

"Maybe I inherited it," he said thoughtfully.

************************************************************************

"I've got to go to an early meeting," the man said, kissing the top of Krycek's head, "but I've time for something else."

"What would you like?" Krycek asked. "This?" he asked, kneeling in front of the man.

"That would be perfect," he said, and from the moment he felt Krycek's soft warm lips and tongue on his cock, he knew it was. "You're the best," he said to Krycek, "the best." He was sucked as well as he'd ever been in his life, and he came in the boy's mouth. Krycek drew himself up. "Taste," he said, and kissed the man.

"That's kind of kinky, Alex," the man said. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"I've always known."

"Be my guest to do other things like that!"

"Thank you, I will."

"Ok," the man said, zipping himself up. "On to the meeting!"

************************************************************************

"Everything's all set for the first run to go to Algeria. My contact has agreed to keep this out of the press, including any deaths. I am fluent in French, so communication is no problem," said the CSM, lighting a Morley.

"How many languages do you speak?" asked the Second Elder.

"Besides English and French, Italian, Spanish, German and Dutch. I also speak a little Russian and a little Chinese. And of course, Greek and Latin."

"Good Lord!" said the Well-Manicured Man. Where did you learn all these languages?

"Two doctorates, Harvard, one in physics, one in lit; plus what you would consider the 'school of hard knocks', bitter but instructive experience."

"So you can communicate with the Algerians; that's very good. We are depending on you to handle this situation for us; please don't mess it up," said the First Elder.

"I won't," said the CSM, stirring sugar into his coffee. "You can trust me."

"Will you be meeting with the Algerians?" a small elderly man asked.

The CSM nodded. "I fly out tomorrow. Should be gone for only a couple days. Any one of you is welcome to come with me."

The WMM nodded. "I will."

"Good," said the CSM. "They all speak English pretty well, you know. You'll be able to communicate with them as well as I."

"All right," said the WMM, sipping his latte. "I'll have my secretary book me a flight. Which seating?"

"First class, 1A. Try to get 2A so you'll get a window."

"What should I know about Algeria?"

"It's a developing nation. The north coast is as modern as we are, but back in the hills and desert country are wild Arabs and Berbers. But we won't be going that way."

"Do you have a prototype?"

"I do indeed, but the first person to turn on the computer will die, so we won't be doing much of a demo."

************************************************************************

The man paid a visit to Mr. Grainger, the president of Visitek.

"Have you got the working prototype?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.

"Yes, sir, we have. In fact, it's right here in my office, all packed and ready to go."

"Thank you. I'll take it with me. Help me load it into my car. It's the silver Mercedes."

Once loaded, he took it to his Menlo Park office and locked it in a large safe, the combination to which only he knew. If anyone noticed the older man carrying the large, heavy boxes with ease, no one commented.

He breezed back home, looking pleased with himself, sweeping Krycek up in his arms and carrying him outside, then back inside. "I've never carried you over the threshhold, love," he said, "and now I have." He put him down on the sectional and began kissing him on the mouth, his lovely lips, his chin, his throat, and unbuttoned his shirt, kissing him down and down, unsnapped his jeans, took him in his mouth.

"Oh!" said Krycek, at the first touch of his mouth and lips on his cock. "Oh, that's so good, lisitsa!" The endearment inflamed the man, who sucked harder and harder. Krycek's back arched and he came with a yell, shooting come down the man's throat.

"Taste," said the man, kissing Krycek. "Now turn over, Alex, and I'll fuck you."

Bill Runningwater, who had been watching this scene from the kitchen, sighed as he mixed the cream filling for his Napoleons. They were getting along, at least. One thing puzzled him. He'd watched Alex with Mulder and Alex with the Old Man, and there was no difference. There was the same affectionate, graceful lovemaking. Well, he had three theories which were perhaps in opposition to each other. One was that Alex was simply acting with the Old Man, but Runningwater seriously doubted this. The boy had orgasms all over the place. Two was that he was such a slut that he massively enjoyed sex with anyone. He didn't entirely buy this one, either, although he didn't rule it out. He scratched his head, thinking. The third theory was that Alex loved them both, despite his protestations to the contrary, and was simply doing his best with two confused and confusing relationships.

Bill layered cream filling with flaky pastry. These things were going to be good, he thought, licking a finger. Krycek chose that moment to gasp and scream, and the Old Man quickly followed.

The Navajo waited a moment, then said, "I've made these really good Napoleons, if anyone's interested."

There were soft murmurs from the livingroom. Then Krycek, holding the back of the couch, popped up. "I'll have one!"

"I'll pass, Bill," said the man, knotting his tie. "I've got to go out again. Alexei, you might get dressed."

"'K," he answered, pulling on his jeans.

"I won't be back until late. Then I've got to fly out tomorrow at 4:30 in the morning. I'll be leaving the country, and I don't know whether my cell phone will work where I'm going. I'll call you every so often, Alex, to let you know how things are going. Don't worry, I'm not flying into danger."

He drove to his Menlo Park office and called the courier who was to pick up the boxed computer. The courier arrived a few minutes later, loading the boxes onto handcarts and thence into an unmarked van. "TWA, flight # 1013?" he asked, and the man nodded, slipping him a $100 bill.

Next the man drove to the Well-Manicured Man's house in Atherton. While he was awaiting a response to his ring, he shook out a cigarette and lit it. "Hi," he said. "May I come in?"

He was admitted to a rather grand room with high vaulted ceilings, parquetry floors and antique furniture. After sitting down and accepting a drink, he asked, "have you booked your flight yet?"

"Yes, my secretary did that, and everything's set. I sit directly behind you."

"Yes, you'll prefer a window seat on such a long flight," the Smoking Man said, drawing on his Morley.

"Are you sure this thing is going to go off?"

"As sure as one can be," said the CSM. "I got rid of a potential rat, Ms. Amanda Jones, yesterday."

"You killed her?"

"If I didn't, I came damned near close. Point-blank, high-caliber weapon, through the forehead."

"Good. Glad to know it. I wanted to know..."

"Yes?" said the Smoking Man, sipping his whiskey sour.

"Exactly how safe is your Alex, vis-a-vis security?"

The CSM looked at him. "Pretty damned safe. He knows nothing. I give him no information whatsoever."

"What about that Cherokee Indian --"

"Navajo. He knows a very little, has possibly guessed more, but he would say nothing to Krycek or Mulder."

The WMM cleared his throat. "And what of Krycek and Mulder? Do they still see each other?"

"Occasionally. I can't help that, he weasels out of my grip every so often. But there is no security breach there, because again, Alex knows nothing."

The WMM leaned forward slightly. "Something I've been wondering. I, well, wondered about Krycek. Is he as good as they say?"

The CSM's eyebrows shot up and he stubbed out his cigarette. "Better, he's better, but don't go getting any ideas, he's mine!"

The WMM chuckled. "Just thought I'd ask. Seems I missed out on a golden opportunity a few years back."

"I guess you did! And he's mine now, and I kill my rivals, so just forget it," the CSM said, leaning back and lighting another cigarette.

"You haven't killed Fox Mulder, not that I've noticed," said the WMM, clinking the ice in his drink.

"Fox is different! He's my son, my fair-haired child."

"You killed your other son."

"Jeffrey? Pah! Hardly worth the moniker! Fox is different, very bright, very brave...just wish he'd leave my lover alone."

************************************************************************

  
Archived: April 22, 2001 


End file.
